Collateral Damage
by Gibbsgirl
Summary: A double homicide provides the team with some unusual working conditions. And more.
1. Chapter 1

**Title**: Collateral Damage

**Author**: Gibbsgirl

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: none

**Disclaimers**: They're not mine. Oh, you want more? They're _really_ not mine. If they were mine, I'd have a better job than cleaning house and cooking dinner every day. Anybody wanna trade?

**Author's Note**: You knew this was coming, didn't you? I can't just write a story without saying something. This was my attempt at getting back to writing, at trying to hear the characters again. No Restraint was on my mind, but what spoke to me was this story idea. So rather than fight it, I decided to just let it flow. I knew if I could only get the words moving and the characters talking, I'd be okay.

It's taken me seven weeks to write this and it's taken a couple of twist and turns that even I didn't expect, but all for the better, I believe. I hope you enjoy this. There's a little something for everyone in here, I think. At least I tried.

It's complete, even though I'm posting it over a period of time. The chapters are going through final editing. You're getting them as soon as they're completely cleaned up. Thanks must go to my one and only fab beta and writing partner, my psychic twin, Mac. Without her input, this story might still be floundering in places! And I owe a special thanks to Karie for reading along with the rough draft, helping me catch the crap that didn't track and checking some of my edits. I bow humbly before you ladies. You help make me what I want to be.

* * *

His eyes flicked to the keycard in his gloved hand. It was a passcard, the kind the maids used. The kind that guaranteed access to any room on the floor. Next, he glanced at his watch. 1:57 am. With a sharp nod, he stepped through the stairwell door and let it close silently behind him.

Though the hall was empty, he strode through it as if he belonged here, as if this was his floor and the room he stopped before was his room. He made a show of pulling the keycard from his coat pocket and slipping it into the lock, imperceptibly holding his breath as the lock clicked. Now it was time for the hard work to begin.

He turned the handle slowly and quietly, and pressed the door open a fraction of an inch. It would not do for anyone to be awake and alert inside this room. When a thin line of inky blackness greeted his eyes at the edge of the door, he gently pushed the door open another inch. Listening. After a moment, convinced that there was no one awake, he slipped his fingers around the edge of the door opening it slowly, only enough to enter, lest the light from the hallway disturb a restless sleeper. Carefully, quietly, the heavy door was allowed to rest back in its frame, with only the barest click to mark his presence.

As he faced the room, he gave his eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness. While he stood, silently, he heard the soft sounds of sleep that filled the air. Once he could make out the shadowed contours of the room, he stepped quietly across the carpet, pausing silently by the bed, his form barely visible. Slowly, quietly he withdrew a small dark object from his coat.

Staring down at the sleeping pair and, remembering his instructions, he placed the black metal barrel against the first one's temple. Startled blue eyes flicked open at the steely hardness, then clouded over as a quiet shot sounded. The second one jerked awake, but never stood a chance. The pistol made contact with that sweet spot between the eyes. The searing heat of the bullet and the force from the muzzle pinned the unsuspecting victim to the pillow.

Coldly, he surveyed his handiwork for a moment, then tossed the gun on the bed. It was worthless to him, purchased specifically for this job. Next he surveyed the room. He spotted the laptop computer immediately. That was an obvious choice. He glanced back at the permanently silent pair and narrowed his eyes. Jewelry. All women had jewelry. He bent close to the nightstand and spotted a necklace with a medallion of some sort. And a ring, expensive looking. Those would do. The rest appeared to be common stuff. Nothing he wanted. As he slipped from the room, the night's business complete, he found himself smiling.


	2. Chapter 2

Early morning sun lit the hotel suite, bathing it with a pale orange glow. But the man seated at the desk seemed oblivious to the gentle grace of the sunbeams streaming through the window. Brows furrowed, he concentrated solely on a manila folder thick with papers, occasionally scribing notes in the pages' margins.

Lloyd Wilson was a man consumed by his work. Six months of investigation and painstaking work to build this case had led him thousands of miles from home to the U.S. capital, where his subject had managed to slip away from him. And not one word or figure in the file in front of him could tell him where to start looking.

Sighing, he reached for the desk phone to ring Room Service just as the mobile phone in his suit coat pocket chirruped, catching his attention. He pulled out the small device and flipped it open.

"Wilson."

"Lawton, Sir. She's not at the Embassy," the woman spoke in a harsh whisper, as if she were trying to avoid being overheard. "And it appears she's a no-show for her early meeting."

"That's not possible. She's never late, and certainly not for a breakfast meeting." He stood and ran a hand through his thinning hair.

"I'm aware of that, Sir. Her staff are handling it very well at the moment, if you don't know to look for the panic in their eyes. They're having no luck locating her, either."

His own thoughts of breakfast forgotten, a cold knot of apprehension began to form in his stomach. "You're certain of this?"

"Yes, Sir. I do have some good news. I overheard two of her aides chatting. Apparently she spent last night with her Captain friend – Philip Haggerty – so I sent Walter round to his flat."

"And?"

"They're not there. Matter of fact, it appears that the Captain hasn't been home in a day or so. His Wednesday post is still in the box and the Thursday paper was on the stoop, according to Walter."

"So where are they?" Wilson paced the length of the room, agitated.

"She can't have gone far. She's scheduled in meetings all day today. She wouldn't miss them all."

"Not unless she's skipped on us and we missed it. Would Haggerty have helped her?"

"Unknown, Sir. We didn't factor him into any of this."

"All right, Lawton. You keep an eye on things there. I'll get back to you shortly."

"Yes, Sir."

Wilson snapped the phone shut and tossed it on the bed. It promised to be a very long day. Shaking his head, he picked up the room phone, intent on ordering at least tea and fruit. While he waited for the desk to connect him, he reached for the TV remote, intending to catch the morning headlines. He hear the words, "Room Service," through the earpiece, when part of a news report froze him cold.

"… details are still sketchy at this hour, but police have confirmed the two murder victims are a Navy captain and an unidentified female companion…"

The phone slid out of Wilson's hand as he stared at the screen. The report was nearly over but the reporter obligingly finished by stating, "This is Barbara Linden reporting live from the Watergate."

Icy prickles flowed down Wilson's spine. Numbly, he hung up the room phone, all thoughts of food now completely gone. Slowly he reached for his mobile phone and dialed information.

"Yes, may I have the number for the Watergate Hotel?" He was given the number then connected promptly.

"Watergate Hotel, how may I direct your call?"

"This is a matter of some urgency. I left a message for one of your guests and I need to know if it has been picked up. This concerns a critical business meeting. Would you be able to tell me if Captain Philip Haggerty has indeed received all his messages?"

"One moment, please." There was a series of clicks and then, "I see no messages waiting for Captain Haggerty. If you left him one then he must have picked it up."

"Thank you," Wilson said faintly. He clicked off the phone and stared at it for a moment. Then he dialed again.

"Lawton," came the crisp answer.

"We have a problem," he stated without preamble. "It's possible that she and Haggerty were murdered at the Watergate last night."

There was a sharply indrawn breath from the other end of the conversation. "What do you want me to do?"

"Get the other two and meet me at the Watergate," Wilson responded tiredly.

"Where, exactly?"

"How hard can it be to find a murder scene?"


	3. Chapter 3

Tony glanced up from his desk, phone still to his ear, as the elevator doors swished open allowing Ziva and Tim to exit. Ziva seemed to be talking animatedly about something, and Tony strained to make out the words. The conversation looked to be more entertaining than the annoying music he'd been listening to while stuck on hold.

"… so I will be able to give you a ride every day if you like, McGee. You will not have to rely on public transportation anymore," Ziva finished as she rounded the corner near her desk.

McGee subjected to Ziva's disastrous driving every day? Tony couldn't allow that. The second the woman's back was turned he began to mouth the words "No! Don't!" while waving frantically in the negative. He dropped the phone back in its cradle, his patience with the operator, exhausted.

Tim furrowed his brows as he tried to explain. "Ziva was just telling me she bought a new car. Well, not a _new_ car, a used car. She said since we live near each other…"

"I suggested we carpuddle together." She smiled confidently at the two men.

Tony stifled a snicker as Tim whispered, "That's carpool."

"Carpool, carpuddle." Ziva waved away the confused words and began to sort through her inbox. Tony shot Tim a look that he hoped would let Tim know he'd be nuts to seriously consider the offer.

"Gee, Ziva," Tony began, slowly. "Are you really sure you should be hauling around innocent victims— I mean, passengers on a daily basis?" He gave her a cheeky grin.

"Oh, come on, Tony! Don't you think you're being a little cruel?" Tim jumped to Ziva's defense.

"Probie! Do I have to remind you of her last _eight_ near misses?"

"What do you mean 'near miss'? I did miss them!" Ziva retorted hotly.

"Barely," Tony shot back.

"Then why did you imply that I hit them?" Ziva challenged. Tony stared at her dumbfounded as she continued. "Near miss… it means I nearly missed the other car, yes? Should it not be near hit?"

"No, Ziva," Tim interjected patiently, capturing her attention. "A near miss is an idiom. It means close shave or—"

The Israeli woman cut him off in frustration. "What does a razor have to do with it?"

Tony couldn't help but burst out laughing, earning himself Ziva's wrathful glare.

"I am perfectly capable of driving myself and a colleague to and from the office every day." She leaned forward and planted her fists on her desk.

"Now that would depend on the definition of the word 'capable'." He flashed a sarcastic grin, which she promptly returned just as Tony spied Gibbs striding down the hall. He hoped that his superior's keen hearing had not overheard his and Ziva's latest dispute.

"Can the semantics debate and grab your gear. We have a double homicide at the Watergate." Gibbs breezed past the trio and headed for his desk to holster his weapon.

"The Watergate? Pretty fancy digs." Tony glanced at McGee with a raised eyebrow.

McGee turned to face Gibbs, once he'd armed himself. "Do we know who the victims are, Boss?"

"Navy Captain Philip Haggerty and the woman he was with, as yet unidentified. Looks to be a professional hit. Let's go." Gibbs was already moving again, not waiting for the team.

"A professional hit? Ziva, this could be right up your alley," Tony commented dryly as he quickly holstered his weapon and slid from behind his desk. "No, wait. They were killed in a hotel, not on the road. Sorry."

Ziva returned Tony's smirk as she caught the keys Gibbs tossed over his shoulder. At her. Damn. He tried not to scowl as Ziva jingled the keyring at him.

The team crowded into the elevator and, out of the corner of his eye, Tony could swear he saw Gibbs smiling.


	4. Chapter 4

After arriving at the hotel, it proved exceedingly easy for Wilson to find the correct room. Flash an ID, mutter something vague and off you go. Getting into the room, now that was considerably more difficult. By the time he reached the correct floor, the Navy was well in control of the scene. On his first pass by the crime scene, craning his neck to see in the room, efficient Navy police quickly hustled him along. His quick glimpse into the room, however, had been enough to let him see her body on the bed. So he let himself be guided away without protest.

He knew that the United States Navy hadn't a clue what they were dealing with, here. It was obvious to him that he needed to be the one to oversee this investigation, so once out of earshot of the gathered Naval personnel, he pulled out his mobile phone and rang the Embassy. He confirmed her death to his superiors, then requested, strenuously, that the inquiry be assigned to him. And received, shockingly, instant approval and authority to do what ever was necessary to investigate the matter. With reassurances that the US Navy's objections would be handled from that end ringing in his ears, he nodded to himself, ready to do whatever it took to gain control of what was now his crime scene.

He strolled by the room a second time and was treated slightly rougher, only this time he was prepared. "Lloyd Wilson, MI-5," he said haughtily, holding out his warrant card. "The woman is ours."

The MP's glanced uncertainly at each other. "I'm sorry Sir. NCIS is in charge of this crime scene. You'll have to wait and take it up with the agent in charge," said the taller of the two.

"No, you don't understand. MI-5 has authority to handle this now because of our operative." The MP's behavior was typical. But Wilson knew he now had a right to be here. And he acted accordingly. To show any doubt or uncertainty could prove fatal to his effort to secure the area. "NSIC or whatever will have to take a backseat on this one. Now I need to get those people out of the room before they do any more damage to my crime scene."

"I can't do that, Sir. I can only take orders from the Navy or NCIS. Until I'm ordered to stand down, you stay out here and they stay in there."

"I tell you, you'll have to vacate this room immediately. This crime scene is being handled by the British Authorities as of right now." Damn the Embassy, but where was the phone call that was supposed to call off the Navy? He had to get past the MP's so he could stop the three in the room.

A British voice chastising someone about traffic, driving and the location of the Watergate, approached from the direction of the elevator. He swung around, thinking his team had arrived only to realize he didn't recognize the man's voice. The owner of that voice, a short older gentleman, was speaking animatedly to the taller, younger man behind him, who was laden with two heavy cases. As they walked up to where Wilson was standing, he read the letters emblazoned jackets: N.C.I.S., and under that, Medical Examiner. Wasn't that the name of the organization the MP's had called out as being in charge of the inquiry? The older man glanced at Wilson then stepped around him, intent on entering the room.

Intent on keeping the disruptions in the room to a minimum, Wilson stepped in front of the two men. "You can't go in there!" He told them emphatically and barred their way. Then he turned to shout authoritatively over his shoulder. "You three! Out! Now!"

Suddenly a coldly quiet voice in his ear arrested his attention. "Just who the _hell_ are you?"

He turned and said calmly, "Lloyd Wilson, MI-5," and watched as the newcomer assessed him thoroughly. After a beat he added, "And you are?"

"Special Agent Gibbs. NCIS." Wilson eyed the badge and ID card that were displayed with a practiced flip of the wrist. "And this is _my_ investigation."

Wilson let out a breath. Finally, someone in charge he could reason with. He looked the silver-haired man over from head to toe. His whip-like frame spoke of former military service and his piercing blue eyes clearly said he wasn't in the mood for games. Well, that was fine. Neither was Wilson. He needed to keep this incident quiet for now. And he needed to gain control of this situation and the crime scene.

"That's our operative in there, Agent Gibbs," Wilson said sharply.

"That's _our _Naval Captain in there and this was his room," Gibbs returned steadily. Wilson bit down on his immediate response. Point to the Navy, the room had been the captain's.

Needing to gain the upper hand, he tried another attack. "Yes, that may be, but this is a highly sensitive matter for the British government, and the Embassy has already authorized my staff and I to handle this matter. I am afraid you'll simply have to cede your investigation to us. We'll be happy to report our findings back to you once we've cleared our case." He turned away and tried once again to step past the MP's. This time there was no resistance. But he did hear Gibbs behind him as he entered the room.

* * *

"We'll see about that." Gibbs' rejoinder was deadly quiet. Then he smiled. Let him see what he's up against. With a brief nod from him, the MP's let Wilson enter, only to be met by Tony, Ziva and McGee.

Confident that his team would keep the MI-5 man from intruding on the crime scene, he pulled out his phone and placed a call to the director. When Shepard finally came on the line, he went straight to the point.

"Jen, I've got some British asshole trying to interfere in my investigation. I need this taken—"

"I know, Jethro."

Gibbs was stopped cold by the director's quiet statement. "What do you mean you know? What the hell is going on here? You know how I hate being blindsided."

There was a sigh from the other end of the conversation and then Shepard spoke, reluctance obvious in her voice. "The British Embassy contacted the State Department who called SecNav who called me. They've requested the right to handle the investigation themselves."

Gibbs drew breath to speak, but Jen kept going. "All I've been told is that the woman was in, to quote SecNav, 'a highly sensitive position'. I don't know anymore than that. But SecNav is inclined to let MI-5 have their way to keep the Brits happy."

"Dammit, Jen. This is bull and you know it. You should be in there demanding a joint investigation. We still have a Navy captain whose interests need to be protected. We have—"

"Agent Gibbs!" Wilson snapped, the authoritarian tone in his voice raising the short hairs on the back of Gibbs' neck. "Will you order your team to comply with my directives? I cannot allow this to continue. They will contaminate my crime scene!"

He gave the impatient man a level stare and then turned away to finish his conversation with the director. "We have as much right to investigate Haggerty's death. More. They were found in his room. We should not only be let in, but we should get the evidence."

"Jethro, don't push it," Shepard warned.

"Just make the argument, Jen. You know I'm right."

She let out a long breath. "Yes. You are. I'll make the call."

Smiling he snapped the phone closed and looked Wilson up and down before stating quietly, "My agents don't contaminate crime scenes." Then he turned to his team and told them confidently, "Continue processing the scene. Agent Wilson is waiting for a phone call before he can proceed."

As Gibbs anticipated, fury and exasperation suffused the Wilson's features. "Now see here, Gibbs. Just what have you done?"

Gibbs merely stood and waited. Sometimes silence spoke volumes. He watched as the other man struggled to get himself under control.

Finally, Wilson said, in a calmer voice than Gibbs expected, "I'll have you know that interfering in this investigation is a huge error on your part."

"So is interfering in mine. What's so important here anyway?"

"I'm afraid I cannot discuss that with you at this time. It is absolutely imperative, however, that you do not release any information at all about her or her death to the media."

"NCIS does not leak. Why all the secrecy?"

"I cannot say—"

"—at this time," Gibbs finished Wilson's sentence with him. "I see. When will you be able to say, exactly?"

Wilson looked uncomfortable. "That will depend on why she was killed."

Gibbs smiled. "Wait for your call, Wilson."


	5. Chapter 5

"Jethro! May I please be allowed to come in and examine the victims now?" Wilson swiveled around to see the pair that had arrived after him, the ones he had successfully stopped from entering the room, were now demanding admittance.

"Wilson. Will you permit our M.E. to handle the bodies?" Gibbs was quite civil now, acting as if he had the upper hand.

Wilson bit down on his frustration as his phone rang. Damn her for going and getting killed anyway. What a nuisance that woman had been, right from the very start. Figures she'd find a way to keep the misery coming even after she was dead. He held up one finger to Gibbs in a signal to wait and then stepped into the hallway, away from everyone.

"Wilson, we've received a call from the Americans. They are insisting that this cannot be an entirely British investigation."

"I understand, Sir." He should have known it wouldn't be this easy but fortunately he still had a card to play. "You are aware of the investigation that I have been conducting for the past six months, are you not?" Wilson waited, tensely. This was the key.

"Yes. What does that have to do with her?"

He took a deep breath. "We believe she was the one. In fact we were just about to move on her. The timing of her death is highly suspect, Sir, don't you think?"

"I see. That does put a slightly different spin on things."

"What are the Americans proposing?" Wilson wanted to know just how hampered his inquiry would be.

"They've insisted on a joint investigation. Full disclosure."

Wilson sighed. Full disclosure. He shook his head. He couldn't simply turn over the file on her, he'd have to edit it. That would take time, time he didn't have. And the Yanks would notice. Add to that the irritation or having someone else constantly picking through his inquiry. He thought fast.

"A joint investigation is an excellent idea, Sir," he agreed, coming up with a plan. "Perhaps we can make it a truly joint endeavor. In order to cut down on the amount of back and forth my staff will need to do to bring Agent Gibbs' team up to speed on this matter, I suggest we exchange one or two investigators between units."

"Explain to me how this would be beneficial, Wilson."

"As much as I hate to lose any of my people, the Navy would have people who were already familiar with this case and could disclose information as it became pertinent. I would have staff familiar with the Navy's techniques and could avoid stepping on official toes while conducting my inquiry. And, unofficially, MI-5 would be able to keep a close eye on both halves of the investigations. Sir." It wasn't a perfect plan, but it was all he could come up with.

"Mm, Wilson, I see you're point. But they would also be on your staff, as well. You realize that."

"Yes, Sir. But this man they have in charge is going to make every attempt to nose around into her activities and my investigation no matter what we do. I cannot afford for some of the information in her file to be leaked. It could be damaging to this investigation. Sir, I can't conduct this inquiry and worry about what the Navy is doing at the same time. You know what they say, keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I'd rather have the Navy where I can see them."

Wilson could almost see the Minister nodding. "That's not a bad idea at all. I'll broach it to the Americans and see what we get. But you make a good argument. I like it. I like it a lot."

Wilson hung up the phone and slid past the MP's and the M.E. and walked over to Gibbs. "Nice maneuver," he conceded with a slight smile, receiving one in return. "But I think it won't be quite what you're expecting." He motioned to the doctor and his assistant waiting by the door. "And, by all means, let's let your M.E. in to examine the bodies."

He watched as Gibbs ushered his team out of the room then both men stepped aside for the doctor and his assistant to enter the room.

"Agent Wilson, this is our Medical Examiner, Dr. Donald Mallard," Gibbs said suddenly, surprising him. "Ducky, this is Agent Lloyd Wilson from MI-5. He'll be assisting us on this case."

Wilson suppressed a smile at the other man's choice of words and greeted the doctor cordially. "Pleasure to meet you, Doctor."

The M.E., however, was clearly put out with his earlier treatment and gave only a brief nod acknowledging the MI-5 man. Palmer, following behind said a hurried, "Nice to meet you, Sir."

"Come along, Mr. Palmer," the doctor said over his shoulder. "We have work to do."


	6. Chapter 6

Wilson stood eyeing Gibbs, for what the silver-haired man couldn't say. But Gibbs didn't feel as if he could walk away from Wilson. So rather than leave the other man to his own devices in the room, Gibbs stayed where he was and called over to Ducky.

"So, Duck… T.O.D.?"

"Assuming that the room temperature has been consistent, I'd say roughly oh-two-hundred. Our unfortunate captain and his lady friend have been dead approximately six hours." Ducky turned and gave his friend a knowing smile. "Is that good enough for you?"

Gibbs nodded and smiled in return. "Yeah, Duck. That's good enough."

"Excellent," said the older man as he packed away his instruments, before turning to his assistant. "Now, let's go get the gurneys, if you think you remember the way back to the truck." Gibbs had to laugh silently at Jimmy's weak smile as the pair neared him. Palmer would do just fine someday. Just like DiNozzo and McGee. He'd just take a little more seasoning. As they reached the door, two men and a woman appeared and attempted to push past the MP's and elbow aside McGee, David and DiNozzo.

He heard Wilson mutter, "About time." Then louder, the man said, "You're late," speaking to the three newcomers at the door.

"Edward drove," snapped the young woman. She flung her honey blonde hair angrily and glared at her much taller and younger partner.

"Let them in, they're my staff," Wilson told the MP's. Then the Brit looked around the room unhappily and pressed his lips together. "There's hardly enough room in here, but I'd rather not do this in the hall. Bring your people back in, Agent Gibbs."

There was considerable maneuvering as the three British agents entered with Ducky and Palmer exiting. When the man referred to as Edward smiled at the departing duo, the ill-tempered blonde stepped on his foot.

"Pay attention, Edward! Really!" she hissed. Gibbs raised an eyebrow at her behavior, then motioned for his agents to follow in Wilson's three.

During the entrances and exits, Gibbs heard a phone ring and saw Wilson, trapped further in the room, take out his phone. Unable to leave the room, the man retreated to the far side of the bed in order to gain some privacy. Gibbs watched him like a hawk.

The six agents had arranged themselves into two lines facing each other and each team was clearly assessing the other. Gibbs watched suspiciously as Wilson spoke quietly and quickly into his phone then flipped it closed and rejoined the group in the tight space.

Wilson broke the uncomfortable silence. "We'll be working with NSIC on this."

What an idiot! "That's NCIS. Naval Criminal—" Gibbs started to correct him but was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. He saw a faint smirk creep across Wilson's face before he snatched the phone from his pocket.

"Gibbs," he snapped as he strode into the hallway to take the call.

"You're not going to like this Jethro, but it's the best we could do," said the director without preamble.

"Tell me I get to investigate my dead captain."

"Oh, you do," Jen said. "You wanted joint, Jethro, you got joint. We're to swap agents on this case."

"We're to _what_?" he exploded. He couldn't possibly have heard her correctly.

"Two of ours for two of theirs. We get the physical evidence, they get anything personal of hers. Don't make this difficult, Jethro."

Gibbs slammed his phone closed while she was still talking and stormed back into the room. How on earth could it get any more difficult than having to take on two worthless spectators?

"All right, Wilson." Gibbs thought fast. He couldn't bear to lose any one of them, much less two. "You can take Officer Ziva David," he said, regretting it, but realizing that she was still only a temporary member of the team. Reassigning her wouldn't be horribly detrimental.

Then he scanned down the line of agents that Wilson had and thought over the case quickly. He knew having Tony on their side would be an asset for him. If anyone could sniff out what in the hell was going on it would be DiNozzo. As much as he hated to do it, he said, "And Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo." Gibbs made an impatient gesture toward the British team and saw Tony and Ziva step forward in confusion.

"Who do I get in return?" he snapped.

Wilson nodded. "I'll be happy to let you have Agent Walter Sinclair." Gibbs gave the man a quick once over. He was of medium build and height with dark-hair and brown eyes that shone with intelligence. The rest of his features were average in every way possible. He would be a valuable member of any team, a veritable ghost who could blend in anywhere and never be noticed.

"And?" Gibbs eyes were cold as he watched Wilson.

"Of course. You may have Agent Edward Harper, as well." The blonde man smiled as he stepped forward, Sinclair a step behind him.

"Gibbs, I don't understand." Ziva stood in the midst of the two groups, a slightly bewildered look on her face.

"Yeah, Boss, what's the deal?" Tony wanted to have his say as well, as he shifted his gaze between Gibbs and the third member of Wilson's team.

"You've been traded, DiNozzo. Both of you. This is now a joint investigation. And someone," Gibbs turned to glare at Wilson, "wasn't happy enough to leave it at that. Someone wanted to have his agents on my team. In return, I have agents on his."

Gibbs was gratified to see Tony swiftly adapting to his new circumstances as he turned to the blonde woman he would now be working with. "Hi. Didn't catch your name." He smiled flirtatiously. "People call me Tony. Did you know—" Gibbs reached out and swatted DiNozzo on the back of the head. "OW!"

"You are not here to pick up women, DiNozzo. Now get to work!" Gibbs turned away leaving Tony with two amused women and Wilson with his hands full.

* * *

"So it appears we have to play nursemaid to this lot, eh?" The blonde turned to look at her superior. "We have work to do, Sir, do we really have time for this nonsense?"

"No choice, Lawton." Wilson looked at the two Navy agents he'd been assigned. "Rhian Lawton," he said nodding at the woman. He looked at her the way an outsider might, the way these two new people would. She was of medium height, and had pleasant but not outstanding features. Her wide mouth might give her a very pretty smile although the look she gave the Americans before she turned away was anything but pretty. What outward appearances would not show was her work ethic.

"She is quite an excellent investigator," Wilson told his two new charges. "She does not, however, suffer fools, gladly or otherwise."

"Yes, well, I do have a question that no one has addressed yet, Sir." Rhian cut in before either of the NCIS agents could speak. "Who's taking custody of the physical evidence?" She gave Ziva and Tony a decidedly disgusted look.

Wilson pursed his lips before answering slowly, "NICS—"

"That's NCIS," Tony corrected as he smiled at Rhian again, obviously trying to win her over. From the look she gave him, it clearly wasn't working.

"You mean we're letting the Yanks have all the physical evidence?" Rhian spit out. "What if they muck it up?" She folded her arms fury evident in the line of her posture.

"Hey! Our forensic specialist could run circles around you guys any day!" Tony shot back hotly.

Rhian put her hands aggressively to her hips, all her earlier irritation with Edward re-directed at Tony. "You wouldn't know a forensic specialist if one bit you in the arse!"

"Now that's kinky." He half turned and gestured over his shoulder to the third NCIS agent. "I can ask McGee if Abby's into that sort of thing."

She buried her face in her hands and stifled a scream of frustration.

"That's enough!" Wilson commanded. "Gibbs! Are you certain these are the agents you want to send with me?"

Gibbs looked over at Tony's smirk and Rhian's frustrated posture. "Oh, yeah. They'll be just fine."

Wilson suspected he'd just been given the short end of the stick.

* * *

"McGee!" Gibbs said sharply.

"Yes, Boss!" McGee was right there, camera still around his neck.

"McGee, introduce yourself to these men and then let's get an update on what we have here. NCIS will be handling all the physical evidence, so we need to get it all properly bagged and tagged for transport." Gibbs eyed his two new subordinates carefully. "You two ever bagged and tagged evidence before?"

"Yes, Sir. We are familiar with forensic procedure," Edward answered.

"Good get yourself some gloves and McGee will show you where to start in just a minute." Gibbs turned back to Tim. "So what do we have?"

"Two victims, one gunshot wound each to the head. No exit wounds. Gun was left on the bed. Could be robbery, there seems to be a laptop missing. Don't know if it's his or hers. Her jewelry was left, though. No ID for her. His seems to confirm Captain Philip Haggerty. Nothing else looks out of place, Boss."

"All right, McGee," Gibbs nodded. "Get those two to start helping you and I'm going to see about getting the other three out from under your feet while you do it." Gibbs turned to head off, then turned back. "Oh, and McGee. Keep 'em in line, eh?"

Before he could leave the room, Edward stepped in his path. "Excuse me, Sir."

"Don't 'Sir' me," Gibbs said flatly.

"Beg pardon?" There was confusion in the man's blue eyes.

"Don't. Call. Me. Sir. Now what do you want?"

"Oh. Right. We were unable to find any gloves." It was clear that Harper had to fight not to say the word 'Sir'.

Gibbs reached into his coat pocket and pulled out several gloves, dropping them into Edward's surprised hands. "Always carry them with you," he snapped.

As he turned to leave, Gibbs smirked to himself. He didn't think these exchange students would last a day.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:** I hate to do this, I don't like to interrupt the flow of the story. But I forgot to add this at the beginning. I don't know _anything_ about MI-5. I'm just sort of winging it with that. So for any of you reading who know something about it, I apologize if I'm totally off base.

* * *

The size of the room made even conversation difficult for the eight current occupants, so Wilson herded his makeshift team out into the hallway to an alcove about thirty feet away. As he turned to leave, however, he wanted Gibbs to know what the rules of play would be for this experiment. 

"You are entitled to recover any evidence in this room, save for items clearly belonging to our operative. Those must be left untouched for my team to gather."

"This is ridiculous," Gibbs growled. "How am I supposed to conduct a thorough investigation if I can't have access to all of the evidence?"

"Agent Gibbs, I'm sure your director has briefed you—"

Gibbs cut Wilson off with an upraised hand. "My director gave me the order. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

Wilson sighed, imagining his own frustration had the Yanks not decided to play things his way. A conciliatory gesture wouldn't cut it with this man, though – he needed nothing less than honesty. "Look, I'm not trying to hinder your investigation. Matter of fact, my superiors have made it clear to me that I may not."

"Sure as hell wasn't what you were saying when you first got here," Gibbs replied with the smallest of grins.

"Yes, well. We all have our orders, I suppose." He paused a moment, then added, "I want their killer brought to justice as much as you do. But there are issues of national security that I may not breach. I hope you understand."

Gibbs inclined his head, a small gesture. Wilson nodded in return, grateful for the other man's acceptance, though perhaps grudgingly given, of the situation. Then he turned to his team in the hall, feeling the waves of frustration rolling off them.

"Sir! When will we be allowed in there? We need to process—"

A slight shake of Wilson's head cut off Rhian's statement and a look passed between Tony and Ziva.

'—her belongings." Rhian finished, glancing at the two Americans.

Ziva commented on it first. "You cannot even say her name?"

"We'd rather not. We don't know who might be listening, and until we know why she died, well, there are reasons," Wilson explained quietly. To Rhian he said, "Why don't you go stand by the door and watch?"

She smiled her thanks and grabbed a sketchpad that had been leaning against the wall before taking up a position in front of the door to the room. Tony glanced over his shoulder then turned and walked slowly over to stand with her.

Ziva shook her head and simply leaned back against the wall. "I'll wait here," she muttered and Wilson sighed.

"I'm off to interview the neighboring rooms to see what they heard last night. If there are any problems, do let me know."

Ziva grinned. "Problems, as in real problems? Or problems as in Tony problems?"

Wilson grimaced. "Gibbs did this deliberately, didn't he?"

Ziva laughed lightly. "I'll keep an eye on him. Go." She made a shooing motion with her hand and Wilson had an awful feeling that what had been a fine plan in theory was going to turn out to be a true disaster in reality.

* * *

Gibbs surveyed the room one more time. The look on his face said he seemed to feel that his new team had things rather well under control. Walking over to McGee, he told the agent, "I'm going to go start interviewing the neighboring rooms. Remember, we can't take anything belonging to the woman. Of course, he didn't say anything about flashing it." 

Gibbs headed toward the door as Tim turned back to his task of flashing the scene when one of the two British agents spoke up.

"Agent McGee?"

Tim let the camera rest back against his chest and turned to answer Walter, who at the moment was across the room, next to the desk. "Did you have a problem, Agent Sinclair?"

"Um… I don't know what your procedures are for handling this." He indicated a small brass trashcan to the left of the desk.

"What's in it?" Tim asked, stepping closer to the can to get a better look. What he saw made Walter's question completely understandable: fragments of thick blackened paper topped with fine white ash. This would take careful handling if there was any possibility of getting anything usable from it.

Gibbs had stepped up behind Tim and Walter. Now he looked over the two men's shoulders. "Get that whole can to Abby. Might be too far gone to recover, but anything she can get us will be a plus." He looked up at both agents. "Good find, Sinclair." He gave a sharp nod then continued out the door, pushing past Tony and Rhian standing in the way.

* * *

Rhian, meanwhile, stood at the door, futilely trying to sketch the scene. She worked quickly as she craned her head to see around the agents in the room, trying to note the placement of the objects that remained. 

Tony stood next to her and smiled, his sketchpad under his arm. "I've already done that. And mine are more complete." He held onto his smile as she turned a nasty look on him. Casually he opened his pad and flipped to his first sketch, which he pretended to study. Then he glanced at hers as she went back to drawing desperately.

An elevator ding caught their attention. "Better hurry," he said, turning back to her with a grin. "Here comes Ducky to remove the bodies."

She was forced to back out of the doorway to allow the gurneys in, and then again as the other team gave Ducky and Jimmy room to work. Once everyone had exchanged positions, Rhian stepped back into the doorway, still trying to draw.

Tony was right by her side, his voice irritatingly in her ear as he held out his drawings. "You know what you're missing, don't you? The placement of her jewelry. It was still on that night table." He paused and flipped a page in his book and cocked his head to study yet another sketch. "Of course, it's already been bagged and tagged for evidence. But, then, you'd know that if you hadn't been late to the scene, wouldn't you?"

He flipped to another page. "Oh, and the gun," he added, as if it were an afterthought. "Right there in the middle of the bed." He tapped a finger against his drawing and glanced sidelong at her to see her slowly tear the page from her sketchbook, fury evident on her face.

He turned and smiled at her. "If you're nice to me," he said, as she crumpled the half finished drawing in disgust, "I'll share mine with you." She threw the wadded paper at him, then flung her hair over her shoulder and turned away pointedly as Ducky called out to the small crowd in the hallway.

"Would there be two of you who wouldn't mind giving us a hand wheeling these gurneys down? It's either that or one has to sit in the room while we take the one down and—"

"Not a problem, Doctor. I'd be delighted to help you," Edward spoke up.

Tim also volunteered. "Sure Ducky, anything that gets us all out of here sooner."

"Thank you, boys," the doctor said with a smile.

Ziva, who had remained silent throughout the varied exchanges, pushed off from the wall as the second gurney cleared the doorway. "It seems to me that it must be our turn now, yes?"

Tim protested as the brunette walked into the room. "Ziva! We're not done in there yet!"

Tony grinned as Rhian strode in behind Ziva. "Too bad, Probie. Looks like we get a shot at it now." Then he followed his new team into the room.

Rhian went straight to the foot of the bed where the couple's suitcases sat side by side. Snapping on gloves, she quickly flipped over the ID tags on the handle of the first suitcase. She gave a slight nod and picked it up then laid it on the bed and flipped it open.

She had quite obviously chosen the woman's suitcase and she began to give the contents a cursory examination. Tony was at her side instantly. First, he reached for the handle of the bag, intent on reading the tag. She slapped his hand away, glaring at him, but not before he read the words "British Embassy, NYC USA" on it.

Then he leaned in next to her as she quickly but carefully lifted up several garments in the bag. Spotting a piece of black silk and lace lingerie, he snagged it and held it up, commenting, "Sexy."

Across the room, Ziva snickered. "I do not think it is your size, Tony."

Rhian shot him an appalled look and snatched the object from his fingers, but Tony merely shrugged and smiled. "It was obviously a romantic meeting. You don't bring lacy things like that for a business one. Well, I suppose it depends on the business."

Rhian's mouth fell open for a moment before she snapped it shut, doing the same to the suitcase. "This goes with us," she stated matter-of-factly. She turned and headed for the door.

"Hold on, that's part of the physical evidence. That goes back to NCIS." Tony stepped neatly in front of her, blocking her path.

Rhian sighed and looked up at him. "Yes, but it was hers. That means it's ours." She spoke slowly and deliberately, as if she were explaining it to a child, then moved to step around him. He blocked her path again and this time her glare carried more heat. "Get out of my way!"

"Sorry. The evidence goes back to Abby's lab." Tony gave her a grin as he matched her move for move, his body always remaining between Rhian and the door.

"Why Tony, you dance quite well." Ziva said in a teasing tone. "But I do not think the waltz goes quite like that."

Tony moved again to block an increasingly frustrated Rhian. "Funny. Just go find Gibbs."

Ziva was mere feet from the door when Wilson and Gibbs appeared in the doorway. Before she could explain the sight that greeted them, the other woman shouted out in fury.

"Sir! I demand that you come in here and get this… person away from me. Immediately!

Gibbs and Wilson hurried into the room to find Tony and Rhian standing eighteen inches apart, her bristling with anger and him with a rather amused smile on his face.

"DiNozzo!"

"Not my fault, Boss. She wanted to remove evidence from the scene," motioning to the suitcase Rhian carried. "All I did was block her exit. I never touched her."

Rhian stifled a scream and tried one more time to head for the door as Tony slid in front of her once more. "That's still not going anywhere."

The blonde agent took a deep breath and calmed herself, then turned to address her superior. "Sir, it's hers. That means it's ours."

Wilson looked at Gibbs. "She's right. It comes with us."

Gibbs ground out unhappily, "Unfortunately she's right, DiNozzo." He shifted his eyes to Wilson. "I want a complete inventory of that bag and access to everything in it, the second you've finished going through it." Without taking his eyes off his British counterpart, Gibbs shot, "You got that, DiNozzo?"

"Yeah, Boss." Tony smiled down at Rhian and stepped away, extending a gentlemanly arm. She gave him the same evil stare she bestowed on her partner earlier and headed toward the door.

"Oh, and Tony?" Gibbs' voice caught the other man's attention.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Good work."

Tony beamed at the accolade, but noticed that Rhian had paused on her way to the door, near the table that held the evidence collection box. He stepped closer to see what had caught her attention this time and was surprised when she thrust the suitcase into his hands. "Here, make yourself useful," she muttered.

"What do I look like, a servant?" he sniped back at her. But she ignored him in favor of poking through the various sealed evidence bags.

"What did you do with the rest of her jewelry?" Rhian said over her shoulder, holding up one bag, containing a bracelet and earrings.

"What do you mean, 'the rest of her jewelry'? That's all there was, just that bracelet and earrings," he told her as Ziva joined them.

Rhian shook her head. "She had a locket. Small, about an inch and a half gold oval, with her initials engraved on it. She also had a ring."

"There was no locket—" Ziva began.

"Then they've been stolen, haven't they?" she bit out.

"Maybe she didn't wear them," Tony challenged.

Rhian shook her head emphatically. "She never goes anywhere without her locket and her ring."

Wilson walked over, camera in hand. "What's this now?"

Rhian pushed around a couple of the evidence bags in front of her as she answered. "Her locket and ring have been stolen."

"Appear to have been stolen," Tony cut in quickly, leaning on the words.

"Were stolen." Rhian flicked a nasty look in his direction before looking up at her superior.

"All right, we'll handle it. Lawton, and you two— what are your names again?"

Ziva spoke up, "David and DiNozzo."

"Right, you lot, then, come on. We're done here. NCSI—"

"NCIS," Tony corrected automatically.

"—will finish up and we'll videoconference with them later. Right now we have work to do back at the Embassy." Wilson turned abruptly and walked out, Lawton at his heels. Tony and Ziva shared a sigh and followed after them.


	8. Chapter 8

Sitting in the back seat of a comfortable sedan, feigning sleep behind his shades, Tony relished the sedate pace that Wilson took through the Washington traffic. _Definitely could get used to this_, he thought. He had been rather disappointed when Ziva had slipped into the seat next to him rather than the luscious Agent Lawton, but he'd seen the irritation still flashing in her eyes and decided not to press his luck.

When Ziva leaned over, fingers poised as if to pinch him, he murmured, "I wouldn't."

She nodded to the angry posture of the woman seated in front of them and whispered, "I do not think it was wise to get into a hissing contest with the British agent over evidence, Tony."

"That's pis— never mind." He opened his eyes fully and looked at Ziva as he thought for a moment. "So who is this that has MI-5's knickers in a twist?"

"Who?" Ziva asked. "The dead woman?"

"Of course, the dead woman. Who else? They said she was one of theirs," he nodded to Wilson, "but they didn't say _who_ she was."

"I think that when they want us to know they will tell us. Until then, speculating will probably only get us in hot water."

Tony started to correct her idiom out of habit and then realized Ziva had gotten one right. He looked at her in surprise.

"What? Did I get it wrong again?"

"No, actually, you got it right. I was just amazed, that's all. Maybe there's hope for you, yet." He grinned at her, getting the distinct impression that she very much wanted to stick her tongue out at him.

Tony let his gaze wander to the blonde head in the front seat and sighed. This should have been great. He was partnered with two beautiful women. Instead, it was starting out to be a nightmare. One was a crazy chick he knew not to mess too closely with; the other was a complete ice princess.

Just then Rhian turned around and looked directly at him. For the first time he had a clear look at her eyes and he noticed they were a soft brown, not hard or angry. There might be some hope yet. After all, even ice princesses had their melting points.


	9. Chapter 9

Abby was cleaning the lab, pigtails bouncing along with The Crystal Method when the doors swished open. She glanced up to see McGee carrying a box of evidence.

"'Bout time you got here! Gibbs said…" She trailed off as she saw the two men who followed Tim into her lab, her mouth tightening in disapproval. "Those had better not be new assistants," she said in an acid voice. "And if they're friends of yours, then, too bad, Timmy, but I'm not doing a show and tell with the lab equipment today and neither are you. Gibbs already notified me that he wants this processed, like, yesterday!"

One of the men, a cheerful blond, smiled at Abby while his darker, quieter partner simply stood with his hands behind his back and looked around the brightly lit room. Tim cleared his throat and said quietly, "Abbs, these are my temporary partners."

"Temporary partners? What temporary partners? What happened to Tony and Ziva?" Her voice reflected real concern for the missing pair even as she eyed the newcomers suspiciously.

"Ah, if earlier was any indication, your man— Tony, is it? Is probably pushing our other partner to the brink of homicide right now." The blond man stepped forward, smiled again at Abby and extended his hand. "Edward Harper. And it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms.…?"

"Sciuto. Abby, please." Abby said hesitantly. "Male or female?"

As Edward shook her hand he gave her a puzzled look. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your other partner. Male or female?"

"Oh! Yes. Rhian is most definitely female. But she can be a rather prickly one at times." Edward answered her question but made no attempt to introduce the other man as yet.

Abby pulled her hand back slowly and smiled at Edward. "Tony really is a great guy."

Tim laughed and added, "Though sometimes his first impression is a little…" he trailed off at Abby's glare. "What?"

Abby turned away from Tim and smiled at Edward. "Ignore him. They're always at each other." She deliberately did not react to Tim's indignant protest.

Edward smothered a laugh. "Sounds a bit like Rhian with most of the men she encounters, eh Walter?" Now Edward motioned his coworker forward. "Ms. Sciuto, may I introduce Walter Sinclair." Edward leaned toward her and in a stage whisper, said, "I'm afraid Walter and Rhian seem to be at each other a lot like you say Agent McGee is with Tony. I don't know what he'll do without her."

Walter rolled his eyes in Edward's direction. "Do shut up, Eddie." He extended a wary hand to Abby. "Pleasure," he said, though it sounded to her as if he wasn't quite sure he meant it. Then he turned back to the blond man. "Now shouldn't we let the lady work?"

"So how is it," Abby began, as she started to lift items from the evidence box, "that we wound up with you two and Tony and Ziva wound up where, exactly? No offense," she added quickly.

"None taken," assured Edward while Walter simply leaned against a table and watched.

"They're investigators from MI-5, Abbs." Tim explained. "Tony and Ziva went with their partner and boss." He carefully lifted the ash-filled waste can with the ash from the evidence box. "Take a look at this. Do you think you can get anything from this? Reconstruct it maybe?"

Abby sighed and peered disapprovingly at the charred paper. "I don't know. It depends on how fragile the ash is. It appears to be a photograph, that much I can tell you. At most I'll be able to give you a good idea of what picture you're looking for when you find the negatives. Or the digitals." She shrugged. "I'd start with trying to find his laptop and wherever he might have backed up his data," she told him, pointing to the obviously empty laptop case that Edward had lifted onto the lab table.

Then she turned to the other two men as she opened the captain's suitcase. "So why the MI-5 involvement?" she asked casually. "And will you be involved in the entire case?"

"Other than the fact that the woman in the room was one of our operatives, we're not at liberty to say just yet." Edward gave a sidelong glance to his partner who merely raised his eyebrow and looked away.

"Yeah, why is that exactly, anyway?" Tim asked, coming to stand next to Abby, placing the two Americans on the opposite side of the table from the two Brits.

Edward had the grace to look embarrassed and he deferred to Walter. "We need to verify some things before we can release her information to you. If what we suspect is true…" he stopped and shook his head. "I can't say any more right now. Sorry."

Abby and Tim looked at each other and Abby raised an eyebrow. "Well, we'll see what the evidence has to say. Evidence doesn't lie, gentlemen."

Abby began extracting items from the suitcase one by one, tagging them for reference. She tuned out the presence of the three men and concentrated on the work that she loved, meticulously picking apart what was left of the captain's life.


	10. Chapter 10

The conference room in the Embassy was not the most ideal location for this type of work, but Ziva reflected that it would have to do for the moment. She looked up from the item of clothing that she was sealing into an evidence bag as the man on the other end of the video conference call wailed in protest.

"Watch what you're doing there! You're going to contaminate nearly every piece of evidence in that case before I even get it!" He seemed to be nearly frantic and Ziva thought that even Abby had never acted quite so hysterically over evidence as this man.

"Freddy, relax." Rhian didn't even look up as she absently soothed the aggrieved lab tech. "We don't have the luxury of waiting until we get this back to London to go through it. It has to be done now. Don't worry, anything that's actually destined for your lab will be properly handled. The Yanks are good for something at least."

Ziva watched as a muscle in Tony's jaw bunched. She knew he badly wanted to fling a scathing comment back at her. But this woman and her superior had information vital to the case. It would not do for them to wind up on Wilson's bad side before they had even found out the unfortunate female victim's name. So they contented themselves with carefully examining each item as they bagged and tagged them, making an inventory list for Gibbs.

"There are an awful lot of business clothes in here for a romantic getaway, are there not?" Ziva bagged her fourth suit after checking the pockets carefully.

"Maybe that was a cover. Or maybe she was here on business and the romantic little hook-up was just a bonus." He looked at the pile of makeup and began to bag each item separately after opening each one and giving it a sniff. "I'll never understand women and makeup," he mumbled softly.

"Do you prefer your women without makeup, then?" Ziva asked, curious now.

"No. But that doesn't mean I understand it." He uncapped a bottle of perfume and took a whiff, jerking his head back from the pungent scent.

"Don't like perfume, either, Tony?" Ziva laughed, causing Rhian to frown at them in disdain. Tony bagged the bottle as he smiled in the British woman's direction. "I like perfume. I just don't like _that_ perfume," he said emphatically.

Wilson entered the room abruptly. "Well, have you found it yet?" He ran a hand through his rapidly thinning hair and looked expectantly at Rhian.

"No, Sir. But she would hardly have kept it in plain sight, and I'm just getting to the bottom of her suitcase." She passed the last few items off to Ziva who handed them to Tony. Tony set them aside. Neither NCIS agent wanted to miss the big reveal.

Rhian glared over at them briefly but it carried no real heat. Instead she turned back to her task, pulling a knife out of a sheath at her ankle and pressing it into the crease between the side and back of the suitcase.

"False bottom," Tony said softly. Ziva merely rolled her eyes at his statement of the obvious.

Rhian pulled away the covering to reveal a shallow compartment containing only a passport and an international driver's license. "Damn, you Helena! What did you do with it?"

Freddy chimed in from the forgotten vid screen. "Did she burn it? You said there was something burned in the ashcan in the hotel."

Rhian and Wilson both shook their heads. "She'd never have risked that. She'd either have kept it intact here, or she'd have destroyed it elsewhere," Wilson said. "She should have left something, though."

"Without a photograph or a name we'll never find her contact. And unless there's something we've missed somewhere, six months of work ends with this." She threw up her hands in a frustrated gesture before turning to Tony and Ziva. "I certainly hope your dead captain can tell us more than our dead agent."


	11. Chapter 11

"So, Duck! What can you tell me about our captain and his friend?" Gibbs strode into Autopsy, carrying a large steaming cup of coffee, trailed by McGee, Harper and Sinclair. He took a sip and glanced over his shoulder at the two new men as he waited for the M.E.'s answer.

"They were both in excellent health, Jethro. Aside from one bullet to the brain, each. As you can see, it's obvious that the weapon was in contact with the skin when it was fired. You can see the burn marks here, and here." Ducky pointed with his bloody dissecting tool, indicating the blackened flesh circling each bullet wound.

He set down the instrument and led the team of agents over to the light panels. Gesturing to the films hanging there, he continued, "On the x-rays you can clearly see each bullet, which I have already sent up to Abigail."

"Not a through-and-through, Duck? At such a close range?" Gibbs walked over to the table where Jimmy was carefully cleaning several instruments. "Missed a spot, there, Palmer."

Jimmy glanced up at Gibbs, then peered down at the tool he held. Gibbs turned back to the doctor and smiled as the older man answered.

"The films don't lie, Jethro. I must admit, though, I am curious as to why it wasn't a through-and-through. I am certain Abby will have a perfectly reasonable explanation for it. Now I have a question for you. Do we have an ID on our mystery woman yet?" He looked expectantly at his friend and the silent team behind him.

Gibbs turned and eyed the two new men on his team. "Do we have an answer for the doctor?"

Edward and Walter looked at each other, then back at Gibbs. To his eye, they at least looked uncomfortable about their continued silence.

"Really, gentlemen," Ducky said with some exasperation. "I have paperwork to fill out. A death certificate. Surely you can give me the poor unfortunate woman's name."

Walter nodded. "Yes. Sorry, Doctor. Her name was Helena Downey."


	12. Chapter 12

"Her locket and ring are missing. You're certain of that, are you?" Wilson said. They were seated around the table that had earlier held the suitcase, that item and its contents now thoroughly processed, photographed and on its way to MI-5 in London. Tony glanced past Ziva on his right and toward the now-dark monitor used for the teleconference.

Rhian's word's reclaimed his attention. "Positive, Sir. I've scanned through all the digitals of the evidence that was acquired at the scene. Those items were not there."

"Stolen, then," was Wilson's assessment, stated while spreading out the files he'd carried.

"Ya think?" Tony muttered to Ziva, earning him yet another sharp glare from Rhian. Ziva saw Tony turn his head and give her a smile, but somehow she had the feeling that it did not quite reach his eyes.

"Well, we'll track that down. Rhian, you were closest to her, you'll know what to look for. Take one of the Americans with you and check out the local pawnshops." Wilson nodded, his eyes on a page in front of him.

Rhian looked, appalled, at the NCIS pair and then leaned slightly toward her superior. "Now, Sir?"

Wilson put down his pen and faced her. "No, Lawton. Let's wait a day or two on that and see if the lead dries up, shall we?"

"Sorry, Sir. Of course you meant now." The blonde woman eyed her prospective partners carefully and said, cautiously, "Z—Zi—what's your name again?"

"Ziva David," the Mossad officer answered, with a slight smile. "But I know little about American pawnshops. You'd do better to take Agent DiNozzo with you." She gave Tony a smirk as Tony narrowed his eyes at his brunette.

Rhian closed her eyes and swallowed. "Sir," she said turning to Wilson. "Must I take one of them with me? I can certainly do this on my own. I'm sure I needn't trouble—"

"Just take the NSCI—"

"NCIS," Ziva and Tony said at the same time, earning them a look from Wilson.

"Just take the smart mouthed agent with you, Lawton. You never know, he might actually prove to be useful."

The MI-5 woman gave Wilson a baleful stare as Ziva gave Tony a happy little wave. "Have fun you two," she said with a snicker.

"Thanks, Ziva. I'll remember this." Tony closed the door behind him on the way out.


	13. Chapter 13

Yet again, I'm going to take a moment of your time. Before you continue, I must offer profuse thank-yous to my very close friend, Craig. He is my gun expert, and while he's simply a responsible gun owner and enthusiast, he knows more about the weapons and ammo than I could ever hope to. His information was invaluable in writing this next chapter. Any mistakes you find are strictly my screw-ups. Craig, I tried to get it all right…

* * *

"Helena Downey and Captain Philip Haggerty were shot at point blank range, according to Ducky, Abbs," Gibbs said without preamble as he strode into the lab, this time carrying a large Caff-Pow. "Talk to me about the shooting." 

"Well, they were definitely shot with the gun that was left behind. Test firings exactly match the bullets Ducky sent up. The bad news is there are no fingerprints on the gun and since the only DNA I could find was on the muzzle, the odds are pretty high that it belongs to the victims. Unless of course, our killer decided to shoot himself at close range, too. But I don't think we're going to get that lucky." Abby reached for the cup that Gibbs swung out of her way.

"No chance this is a murder-suicide?"

McGee watched this dance with tolerant amusement, while his two new partners seemed to find the whole thing odd. He had to stifle a laugh at the look they exchanged watching Gibbs bribe information from Abby with a beverage.

"No way," Abby shook her head, pigtails flying. "First, gun was found in the wrong position for that, according to the photos McGee had. Second, no prints on the gun, like I said. Dead men don't wipe guns clean, and neither vic was wearing gloves. And finally, no GSR. I had Ducky get me a swab, just to be thorough. Both of them had only trace amounts, consistent with what you'd find on a victim." She reached for the cup one more time.

"Talk to me about the gun." He peered at the ballistics analysis that she had brought up on the screen.

"Not much to tell. It's a Ruger 22/45 Mark III pistol. No modifications. Not terribly expensive as guns go. My guess is our killer bought it, used it and left it, hoping we wouldn't trace it.

"Tell me we're tracing it." The team leader's icy blue gaze fixed on Abby's green one.

"Don't worry, Gibbs! I'm already running the serial number. That should be back in no time. And I've started the DNA, too, just in case it doesn't all belong to our victims." Abby reached for the cup one more time.

"I have a question, Abbs," McGee cut in. "Why didn't the guests in the neighboring rooms hear two gunshots in the night? I mean, there was no silencer on the gun when we found it. Someone should have heard something."

Abby's face brightened, alerting the two NCIS men that she had more than just an answer for them. "It's all in the ammo, McGee. And I would think that an MIT man would know that they're not called silencers. People only think that because they supposedly silence the sound of the gunshot, but they're really called suppressors because they suppress the gasses—"

"Abby." Gibbs' voice held a warning note and brought the young woman's verbal digression to a screeching halt.

"Right," she held up a hand in acknowledgement. "Anyway, he didn't use a suppressor. There's only one set of rifling grooves on the bullets." She turned to her computer keyboard and punched up the image of the bullets on the plasma screen in the lab for the team to see. "If he'd used a suppressor there would have been a second set from where it had gone through the gun and then the suppressor."

She turned to face the men and leaned against the desk behind her. "Besides," she continued, "with this ammo, he didn't need one. These are subsonic bullets. They're designed to fire quieter. Even without a suppressor they would sound like a pop. From another hotel room, it would probably sound like someone dropped something, if they were heard at all. Matter of fact, that ammo is the reason that Ducky was the one to recover the bullets – their lower velocity caused them to remain in the vics rather than lodging in the pillow, mattress, headboard, wall…"

Gibbs raised his hand in a silencing gesture and handed her the drink cup. She drank thirstily from it as he asked his next question. "Can you trace the ammo?"

"Gibbs, you can buy this stuff online. Our scumbag could have bought this stuff anywhere, anytime. I'm going to have better luck with the gun."

"Let me know when you have it traced." Gibbs turned to go, but she brought him up short with her next words.

"Don't you want to know why I really called you down here?" She grinned as he turned and raised his eyebrow.

"Holding out on me, Abbs?"

"No, Bossman. Just saving the best for last." She reached over to the area where Haggerty's suitcase had been… dissected, for lack of a better word. She snagged a small evidence bag with a card in it and handed it to him. "I found this wedged in his shaving kit. I'll bet he didn't want someone to know about that appointment."

Gibbs turned the bag over in his hands. The card was for a local restaurant. On it was written, "Tuesday, 1:30 p.m." He glanced up at the team. "This meeting was for two days ago. Let's find out if he kept this and who he was supposed to meet."


	14. Chapter 14

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"Did… oh, God. I've been reduced to children's arguments." Rhian buried her face in her hands as she sunk into a seat next to Wilson in the conference room.

"It is only fair, Agent Lawton. Tony is a child," Ziva piped up, smiling at the man who had followed the aggravated blonde into the room.

"You did… Hey!" Tony started speaking to Rhian only to be arrested by Ziva's crack. "Watch it, David."

Wilson cut across the chatter. "What did you find out about the jewelry?"

"Nothing so far." Tony was now all business. "Whoever has it, hasn't done anything with it. Yet. I called in a favor from a friend on the DC Metro squad. He said he'd keep an eye out for the pieces to surface for us. That sapphire ring sounds unique enough that he said it wouldn't be too difficult." He paused and smiled down at Rhian, who was studiously ignoring him. "She said it was a 'brilliant plan' since she didn't want to spend all day staking out pawnshops."

"I never said brilliant!"

"Did too!"

Rhian let out a small, frustrated scream, then turned to her boss. "What have you been doing while we were gone?

"We took a vid conference from… N…C…I…S… yes?" Wilson looked to Ziva who nodded proudly. Wilson shook his head. "Too confusing, if you ask me. Anyway, we were updated on their forensic findings and they were getting a little itchy to know about Helena."

"I imagine so," Rhian said dryly.

"Let's do this then, we'll go over the forensics afterward," Wilson said, taking a moment to make a phone call.

Rhian looked over at the two American agents. "What's said in this room must stay here. As far as we know our investigation was complete, however…" she spread her hands in a gesture of uncertainty. Her gaze flicked to the side as Wilson snapped his phone shut.

"Helena Downey." Wilson shifted in his seat and looked at the two Americans seated at the table across from him. "She was an MI-5 operative."

Tony nodded. So far they hadn't heard anything new. He glanced over at Ziva, then looked Wilson in the eye and waited.

A sigh escaped the older man. "Helena was in intelligence." He pressed a thumb and forefinger to his eyes and continued. "About six months ago I stumbled across evidence of a leak."

"A leak. You mean an information leak?" Tony wanted to be absolutely clear about who Helena was. A spook. A rogue spook, it sounded like.

Wilson nodded. "Because I had found the leak, I was allowed to put together a team and pursue it. It took time, however. The person had covered their tracks well and tracing the source of the leak proved to be time-consuming and difficult. We finally had it down to one office, but linking it to one person in that office was tricky. We had nearly finished building our case when Helena, our suspect, was sent to the States." He paused and reached for a bottle of water on the table.

"For what reason was this woman sent to the United States?" Ziva asked.

"That was her next duty rotation. Our Embassy in New York," Rhian answered back.

Tony cleared his throat. "What, precisely, was she accused of selling?"

"Helena's office handled secure communications. Including coded transmissions," Rhian said quietly.

"She was selling codes? And it took you six months to catch her?" Ziva was shocked.

"As we said, the perpetrator was clever and covered his or her tracks well. There were so many false leads to follow that we spent three months alone trying to eliminate everyone in cryptography." Wilson shook his head, obviously remembering the wasted time.

"As soon as we realized we'd been played, we moved on to the other areas that have access to the codes and split up the work, but it still took time. We had to be as careful in our investigations as our traitor was in their transactions." He sighed and Rhian nodded.

"It takes a great deal of time to build a case like this and we wanted to be certain this case was airtight." It was Rhian's turn to sigh. "We didn't have everything in place before she was assigned to New York. She was gone before we were ready to bring her up on charges."

"You didn't have her under surveillance," Tony stated flatly and Rhian glared at him.

"Of course we had her under surveillance! We had the whole office under surveillance," Rhian seethed. "I, personally, watched her get on the damn plane!"

Wilson chimed in, "If we had moved too soon, it would have been six months of work down the tubes and she'd have been in the wind."

"I would think that if she were a security risk she would not have been permitted to travel." Ziva still seem quite unimpressed with the way MI-5 had handled the case.

"There was no way to do that without arousing suspicion," Rhian tried to explain.

"You were the investigating officers. You mean to tell me you couldn't get the duty rotation shifted out of that office? Or put travel restrictions on them?" Ziva continued to press the issue.

"Only if we wanted to alert the entire office that they were being investigated." Wilson shook his head. "We had to keep everything running normally so as not to spook our spook."

"So if she was stationed in New York, what was she doing down here in DC?" Tony eyed the two investigators.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Rhian took a deep breath and pressed her lips together a moment before going on. "Look, we don't create the assignments. We don't oversee Intelligence in anyway. We simply wound up investigating this hornet's nest of lies and intrigue only to find Helena at the bottom of it."

Wilson laid a hand on the woman's arm as he spoke to the Americans. "Please try to understand. The four of us all know a great many people in Intelligence. It's one of the reasons why I hand picked this team. We were aware from the very start that when the truth was uncovered, it was more than likely one of us would be arresting a friend."

Tony and Ziva looked at each other and then back at the two British agents.

"What?" snapped Rhian. "You think you could have done a better job than we have? Well I'd like to see you try! I'd like to see you have to spend six months investigating everything about your friends' lives in secret while still having to socialize with them every day. I'd like to see you have to find out that one of your very best friends, who was once a mentor to you, has turned into a traitor." She took a breath. "You want to know how Helena was able to elude us so easily? She was an investigator before she was a spook. And she was damn good at both jobs."

Ziva spoke up softly. "You never thought she could end up dead, did you?"

Rhian stood quickly, knocking her chair backwards and shoved her way out of the small conference room, her back stiff and straight.


	15. Chapter 15

Walter closed his mobile phone and nodded to Edward. "How do you work this thing?" muttered the blond man, looking at the controller for the plasma screen in the bullpen.

Gibbs plucked it from his hands and thrust it into Tim's. With a click, the screen flashed up a picture of an attractive woman in her mid-forties. She had reddish brown hair and a pleasant face with blue eyes and a friendly smile. "Helena Downey," Gibbs stated, recognizing the sad contrast between the vibrant photograph and the pale, bullet-marred features he'd seen in Autopsy.

Edward nodded. "Helena Downey. MI-5 Intelligence operative, gone bad. Or so our investigation showed. It took us months to tie the leak to her. We were just getting ready to make our move and," he gestured to the screen, "she ends up here."

Gibbs seemed nonplussed. "So why the big mystery?"

"Because she's dead!" Edward shook his head. "And there are a few too many variables here. We don't know if she was killed because she was with your Captain Haggerty, if it had something to do with her activities, possibly our investigation, or if she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, a robbery gone bad. Wouldn't you be a little cautious letting strangers poke about?"

Gibbs inclined his head as if to concede the point. "I think we can safely rule out the last one, however, seeing as how the killer left her jewelry sitting on the night table next to where he shot her," Gibbs said, picking his coffee up from where it sat on his desk.

Edward shook his head. "Her locket and ring were gone. As was someone's laptop."

"What locket and ring?" Gibbs snapped.

"Sorry, thought you'd heard Rhian's… ah, discussion with your man over the missing items." When Edward received nothing but a piercing blue gaze he continued, a bit awkwardly. "Right. It seems that Helena had a locket and ring that she always wore. They weren't among the objects collected at the scene."

Gibbs was deadly still, eyes still locked with Edward's. "McGee! Find out about this locket and ring."

McGee was talking at the same time, his words overlapping Gibbs'. "Find out about the locket and ring. On it, Boss."

Without moving a muscle Gibbs shifted his focus back to the blond Brit. "Anything else I should know about?"

"Nothing I can think of at the moment. Sir." Edward swallowed a trifle uncomfortably.

Gibbs waited a beat, then said, "You do not have to 'Sir' me," as he looked away, taking a drink from his coffee.

"This feels too personal to me," Walter spoke up and everyone turned to look at him. "The killer stood next to the bed and placed a gun against her head and then his. Looked them in the face and watched them die."

"Yes, but personal for whom?" Edward mused, glad for the shift in the conversation. "Helena or Haggerty? We still don't know. And if it was her, did it have something to do with her information brokering?"

"How do you know it was her first and not him?" Tim looked at Walter curiously.

"Look at the placement of the shots." He motioned to the controller in the younger man's hand. "Bring up the crime scene photos you took."

As Tim scrolled through the images that were loaded into the computer, Walter told them, "Look at the two of them. She was shot in the temple. Must have been lying on her side, asleep, unaware." When the picture appeared on the screen, Helena did indeed look to be curled in sleep, save for the burnt, bloody hole piercing her temple. Then Walter pointed to Captain Haggerty's position on the bed. "He must have heard her shot, tried to sit up and the killer put his gun to the middle of Haggerty's head and fired, pushing the man back against the pillow."

Silence reigned for a moment as the team digested this. Gibbs spoke first. "Well, standing here won't find me the bastard. Get moving and get me something we can work with. McGee, you have anything on that meeting yet?"

As Tim scrambled to pull up his notes from the talk with the restaurant manager with Edward looking over his shoulder, Walter studied the stark image on the plasma. "I get the feeling that even though this was personal, somebody's sending a message," he said quietly as he tapped a finger against his chin and turned to face the group.

Tim looked as if he were about to answer Gibbs' question, when he paused and regarded Walter curiously. "What message?" Walter shifted his dark eyes to the young man.

"Don't fuck with me."


	16. Chapter 16

"So Wilson found out that Helena was supposed to be in meetings this week in DC." Tony and Rhian stepped into the elevator and he glanced over at her as the doors slid shut. Here he was, stuck with the Ice Princess yet again, while Ziva was chosen to search Helena's office with Wilson. Simply because Intelligence was one of Ziva's specialties. He nearly growled in frustration; he didn't even know what his assignment was, other than to follow Rhian.

He closed his eyes at the remembered laughter in his brunette partner's eyes when Wilson told him to "…stick with Rhian for now. You seem to get on well." Yeah. Like a match and gasoline. He forced his mind back to the case and asked, "How do you think Captain Haggerty fits into all of this? Romantic tryst?"

"Or extra cover for an information sale." Rhian tossed out, refusing to look at him.

"Didn't you research her background as part of your investigation?" He leaned against the back wall and folded his arms.

"As a matter of fact we did. She and Philip Haggerty do have a history. The question remains. Was she romantically involved with him this time or not?" Rhian's voice held a note of impatience and she pushed her way through the polished doors as they hissed open.

"I'd say yes, judging from the lacy lingerie she brought," Tony said, his long legs striding to keep up with her quick pace. Rhian snapped her head around to glare at him. "But, if you suspect she was murdered because of her part-time job as an intelligence mole, then it hardly matters one way or the other," he added, smiling tightly at her glare.

They passed through a series of doors, each with a security checkpoint. Rhian scanned her ID at every one, and their voices dropped as they continued their conversation past the various guards.

"There is still the possibility that Helena was not the target of these murders," she said quietly.

"This is true," he conceded. "We don't know what the captain was up to. Yet. But I'd guess that the chances are much greater that she was killed because of something she was into. Or it could be your investigation stirred up something. Maybe Helena was just an innocent bystander in all this. It's happened before."

Tony watched the color drain from the woman's face while they waited to enter the secured garage.

"No, that's not possible. I won't believe that this is our fault." However she gave him a sidelong glance before she bit her lip and looked away.

The doors before them opened and they entered the garage. Rhian led them to a dark green Toyota Corolla parked about forty feet from the elevator. "We need to search this from top to bottom."

Tony nodded. "And what are we looking for?"

Rhian simply gave him a look. "Just search the damn car. Let me know what you find."

"Right." He stepped to the rear of the car, where she pointed. "So how did Helena get away from you? You knew she was in New York, right? Should have been easy enough to keep track of her." The trunk lid popped up, thanks to the key fob in Rhian's hand.

"After Helena left for the States, we did follow her, but we had to be extremely careful not to be seen." Rhian climbed in the back seat of the car and raised her voice to be heard. "We kept watch on her and then we thought perhaps we could take advantage of the situation."

"Advantage, how?" Tony scrutinized the empty trunk for signs of trace evidence. "You know, you should let us have this over at NCIS. Abby could take this apart in—"

"And does she know what to be looking for?" Rhian cut him off as she stuck her head out of the rear door. "Your Naval investigators can have the car once you and I have finished with it." She disappeared back inside while Tony pulled the covering off the spare tire.

"I don't know what I'm looking for!" he shot back. There was no response from her, only the sound of movement from inside the car. "You didn't answer my question." Tony said finally, as he continued to take apart the spare tire assembly. He peered in the back window to see Rhian working loose the seat cushions.

She gave a disgusted sigh before asking absently, "What question?"

"How did you plan to take advantage of Helena being in the States?" Tony started to stack up the pieces from the spare tire assembly, going over each one thoroughly.

Tony heard a scuffling noise from inside the car and he peered through the lightly tinted rear window at his de facto partner. She seemed to have shifted around to search under the front seats, giving him a clear view of her backside. He paused in appreciation for a moment then blinked and returned his attention to the trunk. "Rhian? Take advantage?" he prompted.

"Oh." Her voice was somewhat muffled. "We suspected she would meet her contact while she was here and hoped they could lead us to whomever she was selling her information." Rhian climbed out of the rear seat as she continued. "We were hoping we could do more than just catch one woman selling codes."

She closed her eyes for a moment and stretched just as Tony slammed the trunk lid down, giving him an excellent look at all of her. Against his better judgment, he let his eyes slowly travel her body from head to toe and back until he crashed into her appalled stare, she gave him a vicious look. "There are words for men like you," she said with disdain. He simply gave her his lady-killer grin and shrugged. Her response was to turn her back on him and settle herself in the front passenger side to search the glove box.

He let out a quiet chuckle before asking her, "So what happened with the contact?"

There was silence for a moment. At last she said, "We believe we were right about that. And she was on to us. She left an itinerary that clearly stated she would be in Los Angeles and San Francisco for four days each. Plane reservations, hotel accommodations, everything." She let out a soft snort of derision. "And we fell for it. Walter and Edward followed her. It took them almost one full day to realize she wasn't in Los Angeles."

Tony left the trunk and walked around to the driver's side of the car. "What are we looking for, anyway? Besides something that doesn't belong in a Toyota."

"Something to tie Helena to her contact," Rhian sighed.

"You mean we're looking for something that may not exist." Tony crouched down and looked at her through the open door.

"It does exist, dammit," she snapped at him. "And I have to find it," she added in a quieter tone.

Tony shook his head. "You said it yourself. She was damn good. What makes you think there's something here?" He held up his hands in defense at her fierce glare. "Okay, fine. So what happened when you lost Helena in L.A.?" He looked around the interior of the car speculatively as she talked.

"We didn't lose her in Los Angeles, she was never there. Edward and Walter turned San Francisco upside down as quickly as possible in case she was there. In the meantime, Wilson and I were still in New York, working on paperwork for her arrest. We started start tracking her the minute we found out they didn't have her." Her voice dropped. "It took us another day and a half to hunt her down."

"A day and a half?" Tony paused in his perusal of the interior of the vehicle and raised an eyebrow. Rhian scowled at him and stuffed the contents of the glove box back inside.

"She didn't fly and she didn't rent a car. She had a friend who loaned her a vehicle, this vehicle," Rhian retorted. "It took time to find that one." She sat back in the seat and muttered, "Damn you, Helena. You have to have left something somewhere. I _know_ you."

There was a pop and Rhian looked down to see that Tony held what appeared to be a small section of the interior body panels. It looked like he'd removed it from near where the driver's right leg would be. "What's that?"

"Fuse panel. Don't you know where the fuse panel is on your car?" Tony looked up at her trying to smother his smirk as he shifted slightly holding the small piece of plastic body panel. "So how far behind her were you, after she gave you the slip?"

"My fuse panel is under the bonnet. You don't seriously think I'd crawl on the ground to change a fuse, do you? You really are insufferable," she huffed.

He stared at her, silently, picking idly at the back of the fuse panel cover. She rolled her eyes and sighed before continuing her recitation of events.

"Walter and Edward flew in yesterday, midday sometime, they started trying to track her down immediately. We arrived here last night. The night she was murdered." Rhian muttered unhappily as she looked into unreadable green eyes. He pressed his lips together but was unable to stop a small smile. she said in a low voice, "You're a callous bastard."

"Hey, I'm actually a pretty nice guy, once you get to know me. In fact, I've got a great idea. What do you say we go check out a hotel room together?" His smile widened and her mouth dropped open in shock.

"You are a disgusting, perverted—"

As she spoke he reached down and pulled something off the back of the fuse panel cover. When he held up his hand, there was a hotel room keycard between his fingers.


	17. Chapter 17

"Excuse me – Jason?" Edward caught the attention of the bored young man during the restaurant's quiet period.

"Yeah, that's me." The man who approached them sure wouldn't stand out in a crowd, Tim thought. Six feet tall, on the slender side, with short mousy brown hair and slightly droopy eyelids. All in all, the young man was as unremarkable in looks as Walter was. In his waiter's uniform he would blend into the background thoroughly.

"NCIS. We have a few questions for you." Tim flashed his badge and ID for the young man, who blanched slightly, then let Edward continue.

"Your employer tells us that you were working the luncheon shift this past Tuesday. Is that correct?" As the Brit talked, Tim watched the waiter's reactions.

Jason raised his eyebrows and took a slight step back. "Yeah, what of it? Was there some kind of problem or something?"

"No, no problem. We'd like to know if you remember this gentleman." Tim stepped forward as Edward spoke and held out a picture of Captain Haggerty.

Jason took a long look at the photograph of the handsome man with the dark hair and green eyes. Slowly the young waiter relaxed and after a moment he nodded. "He's a tall guy, right? Taller than me, I mean." He looked to the two men facing him for confirmation.

Tim remembered Philip Haggerty's file information. His height was listed at six foot three. "That's right."

Jason gave a slight shrug and a nod as he handed back the picture. "Yeah, that's him, then. Guy nearly ran me over."

"Ran you over?" Edward spared a glance for Tim then prompted the young waiter. "What happened, exactly?"

Jason shook his head. "Not really sure. I wasn't looking at his table. I was coming from the kitchen to serve my table and suddenly, like, there's this loud… thing going on." He looked from one man to the other. "You know the drill, hysterical chick making a scene over something? Next thing I know I've got this guy in my face. He grabs the edge of the tray so the plates don't go flying and mutters, 'Sorry,' at me and then he's gone."

"Did you happen to see the woman he argued with?" Tim spoke up.

"Nah. I had my own customers to deal with." He shook his head.

"Tell me Jason, do you remember about what time that was?" Edward asked.

"Oh, man," his brow furrowed for a moment and then he looked at Edward and Tim. "Hadda be end of the lunch crowd. I'd say around 2:00, maybe." Again he gave a slight shrug.

"And you say that you didn't wait on this man?" Edward paused and received a confirming nod. "Do you know who did serve him, by any chance?"

"Well, let me think. We were shorthanded, a few of us swapped tables so we could cover Allison's section." Jason pondered the question for a moment. "Hang on, okay?" The young man dashed off to the rear of the restaurant.

"Do you suppose we're going to get anything here or not?" Edward asked before Tim could voice the same question.

"We can only hope," Tim breathed out as Jason returned with a petite brunette.

"This is Carrie. She waited on your couple." Jason turned and walked off leaving Edward and Tim with the woman.

"So, Jase says you guys are like Feds or something?" She turned bright brown eyes on each of them in turn, waiting.

Tim badged her while Edward explained who they were looking for. Carrie nodded knowingly.

"Sure I remember them. He was a fine thing to look at and she was being a real bitch to him. From the time he got here and sat down, she was all over him about something. I didn't quite catch the gist of it, but I think it had to do with another woman."

Edward blinked while Tim scribbled furiously. "Was this the woman he was with?" Edward held out a picture of Helena.

Carrie shook her head. "Nope. Woman he was with had black hair. Blue eyes, though. I remember thinking she was striking."

"And you're sure it wasn't this woman?" Edward still held the picture for the waitress to examine.

"No, I'm sure. There's something about the shape of the face that's different. This woman was more… what's the word? Sharp?"

"Angular," Tim supplied.

"Yes. Angular." Carrie pointed to the picture. "This lady has a rounder face than my customer did. Say, what's this about anyway?"

"Who paid the bill," Tim interjected.

"She did. With cash." Reading the discouragement on the agents' faces, Carried suggested, "I could check the reservation book – see if she left a phone number?"

Edward shook his head. "She made the reservation under his name and number. What can you tell me about the argument?"

"Only that it sounded very jealous on her part and very… what's the word? Calming? On his. But every time I got close they would quiet down, so I never got any details."

"Calming? As in trying to calm her down?" Tim looked up from his notes to see her nod. "And you say you think it had to do with another woman?" Tim glanced at Edward then leaned in to Carrie conspiratorially. "Do you think he was cheating on her, the dark-haired woman?"

She glanced around and bit her lip. "You know, I'm not quite sure. I got the feeling that she thought he was, but that he seemed to think that things were over between them."

"So he was seeing another woman, and she was angry about it." Tim kept his voice low, nodding slightly. "She sounds pretty possessive to me."

Carrie nodded. "Yeah, she was clingy, all right."

The two men traded a knowing glance and a nod before smiling encouragingly at her, hoping to draw more details of her memory of that day. They were rewarded for their efforts when her eyes twinkled and her gaze met theirs.

"There was one other thing," she said softly. "She had photographs."


	18. Chapter 18

Rhian was stuck sitting in the rear seat with that… that… American. She let out a disgusted sigh and fixed her gaze firmly out the side window.

"I'm still waiting, you know." His low voice teased her ears.

She ignored him. Tried to ignore him. Swallowed and closed her eyes before turning her head to glare at him. She wondered briefly if she'd ever remember how to smile after having to work with this… man. "You'll wait forever, then."

"You're being unfair." He caught her eye and gave her a grin.

"Just because you weren't trying to suggest anything with that hotel room crack doesn't mean that you're not disgusting and I won't apologize." She turned her head and faced out the side window once more.

She heard Tony's sigh as Wilson turned the car off the road and into the parking lot at the Sleepytime Motel. Keeping her back to the man in the seat beside her, she had her door open before the car had fully stopped. Her feet hit the ground an instant later, and she breathed a sigh of relief to be away from the close confines of the car.

As the other three exited the vehicle, she took a moment to study her surroundings; the motel itself was a one-story strip of about a dozen rooms and it looked rather run down. The flickering neon sign advertised Vacancies, HBO and Pay-Per-View and off to the side was a tired-looking pool with dry scraggly grass making a half-hearted effort to grow nearby. The newest thing about the place was the gleaming gold keycard locks on each of the doors.

Wilson headed for the office, turning to Rhian as he did so. "Let's have that keycard. We'll have the manager scan it for us and direct us to the proper room."

"How about we try the obvious first?" Rhian turned around to see Tony leaning against the roof of the car, watching them.

She couldn't stop herself. "And that would be?" she asked with a scathing tone.

"Number eight," he pointed. "With the 'Do Not Disturb' sign at 5:10 in the evening. I say either they're honeymooners, and in a place like this, I feel sorry for them," he grinned over at her. "Or, maybe we get lucky and Helena left it on the door last night. Either way, we have the key, so why not try?"

Rhian swallowed her hatred of his cocky attitude long enough to admit he had a point. She exchanged a glance with Wilson and he inclined his head. She stepped around Ziva and moved toward the door, pulling the keycard out of her jacket pocket. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Wilson heading for the office – by-the-book, as always. Sliding the card into the lock, she wasn't sure whether she hoped more that Tony was right or that he was wrong.

When the light flashed green and the lock clicked, she twisted the handle and started to push inside, not wanting to see Tony's smug countenance. Only to be hauled sharply backward by his hand. Angry, she looked up to see him, weapon drawn, place a finger to his lips.

Ziva, weapon also in hand and with a foot in the door to keep it from closing, nodded. Together the American pair slipped silently into the room. Thinking quickly, Rhian stuck her foot where Ziva's had been, keeping the door open so she could hear.

Seconds later both Tony and Ziva called, "Clear!" Immediately after that Tony appeared at the door opening it wide. "Miss me?" he grinned down at Rhian as he pulled on gloves.

"Jerk." She groaned in exasperation as she shouldered past him into the room. "Now look what it's come to. I'm using words like 'jerk'." She turned to Ziva who was exiting the small bathroom. "How can you stand to work with him?"

"Gibbs will not let me shoot him," she shrugged.

Rhian made a show of taking out her weapon and checking it before shooting a glance in Tony's direction. "I doubt Wilson would have such a prohibition." Then she reholstered the gun and yanked on her own gloves as she turned to the small table in the room.

Ziva was searching one of the nightstands. "Actually, I have found a knee to the groin is nearly as effective. Less paperwork, too,"

"Hey! Will you two quit talking about me as if I'm not here?" Tony snapped from the far side of the bed as he eyed the two women. He went back to carefully searching under the bedding and between the mattress and box spring.

"Ah, but Tony, pretending you aren't here is actually easier than dealing with you." Rhian dropped to her hands and knees, scanning the underside of the table.

Ziva laughed. "She does have a point."

"I do hope you three are having a good time here, yes?" Wilson strode into the room. "I convinced the woman managing the desk that there was no reason to call the police, that we were, in fact, law enforcement, not local hit men." He shook his head. "You Americans watch too much violence on the telly, you do realize that?"

Rhian looked up from the floor, disgusted. "Seems Helena watched too many spy movies. Honestly, Sir, I think I'm starting to hate her." She stood and dusted herself off, looking around the room for another place to search.

"Got something!" Tony was on his knees next to the bed, its mattress held high above his head. "Ziva! Gimme a hand with this!"

"Me? How about you hold it and I reach under," Ziva countered.

"No way, David! My find, you hold the mattress." Tony glared at Ziva, staring her down.

Wilson cut in. "How about if we just slide the mattress off the bed."

"Well, sure, if you want to take the easy way out," Tony said. As the heavy mattress was moved aside, Tony reached into a slit in the box spring. After a minute of fishing around he smiled and withdrew his hand, holding out his prize. "Clever woman." He looked at the faces around him. "It's a good thing I've got long arms, otherwise we probably wouldn't have found that slit she made in the box spring."

Rhian resisted the urge to roll her eyes. It was a good thing this man was so enamored of himself. Surely no one else was. "Until we moved the mattress," she sniped. "All right, then. If Helena's using that trick, then what else to you suppose she's hidden here?"

"What makes you think there is something else?" Ziva turned from her cursory examination of the documents Tony had pulled from the bed to the other woman.

"Just a hunch. I know her. Now where would she…" Rhian turned around the room speculatively. She stopped and stared at the dresser. "No, it can't be that easy," she murmured.

She opened the right bottom dresser drawer then tilted it to slip it off the rails and slide it out of the dresser. Then she flipped the drawer over and examined the back and the bottom of it. Finding nothing, she set the drawer down, frustrated. "Don't let me down now, Helena."

Five minutes later, Rhian had pulled all the drawers and was furious with her old friend. "Where is it, you conniving bitch?" she muttered. She leaned against the dresser, now empty of its drawers. And felt it sway. "Ah, sneaky. Thought you could outwit me, did you?" Rhian stood and grabbed the end of the piece of furniture, shifting it away from the wall.

"Torch!" she called, holding up a hand. Wilson pressed a small flashlight into it as he stepped over to her.

"What have you found?' he asked, leaning over the edge of the wobbly dresser.

Rhian smiled as she pulled her knife out of its sheath then scraped it along the back. "Just this," she said, standing up and holding out her knife. On its tip was a piece of tape with a key attached.


	19. Chapter 19

The warbling of a phone interrupted Walter's perusal of the files in front of him. He shifted his attention away from the pages detailing Captain Haggerty's associates to the room around him.

"Gibbs," the silver-haired man barked into the phone. There was a pause, then, "Well it's about damn time, DiNozzo. You're late." He nodded to the man across from him and McGee tapped a few keys on his computer.

The plasma screens sprang to life and he watched as Wilson and Rhian, settled at a table, looked up at the screen. The other female whose name he couldn't remember had her back to the screen. She shifted around just as the man next to the table looked up. "Oh, we're on," he said, sounding slightly surprised.

"Yeah, Tony," Gibbs said, dryly. "Now, you want to tell us what kept you?"

Tony glanced to Wilson and received a faint nod to proceed. "We were following up on a lead. Seems Helena had a motel room on the outskirts of town under the name Helen Darby. Nothing there but some well-hidden ID papers and a plane ticket, both in that name, as well as a key, possibly to a safe deposit box. We're checking into any accounts that may exist under her other identity."

Gibbs narrowed his eyes. "Was she double crossing her buyer, ya think?"

"There is no way to tell yet, Agent Gibbs," Wilson spoke up. "We'll know more if we can find what that key unlocks. We're checking banks on both sides of the pond, since she had the key with her."

"Her airline ticket had her making a trip to London tomorrow. Judging from her schedule at the Embassy, it appears she planned to slip out of her meetings a day early. Perhaps she was hoping to elude surveillance, ours or someone else's."

Gibbs took a long pull from what Walter guessed had to be the man's fourth cup of coffee of the day. "Ziva, what's your take on the situation?"

The dark-haired woman tilted her head and regarded the screen seriously. "It would appear that she suspected someone was closing in on her. If I were her I would have set someone up to take the fall for me and taken a shower."

There was silence from both sides of the call for a moment. Then Tony said in a quiet voice, "Powder. That's 'taken a powder'." He shook his head.

"Powder?" she asked quietly. The other three in the room nodded. She turned back to the screen and Gibbs' piercing stare, her cheeks reddening a bit in unspoken apology. "Point is, if it were me, I would be gone and there would be someone else to accuse for my crimes so you did not think to come looking for me."

Gibbs gave a nod of acknowledgement and Wilson picked up the conversation. "What have you been up to, Gibbs?"

He pressed his lips together a moment before answering. "It seems we've found a jealous ex-lover of the Captain's. Or rather, the Captain did, when he had lunch with her two days before the murder. We're still tracking her down."

"So this could be connected to your Captain and not Helena after all!" Rhian exclaimed. Walter winced as Gibbs turned that stare on her. After a moment, so did she.

"We're looking into all the possibilities, Agent Lawton," Gibbs stated evenly. "Speaking of which—"

His words were cut off by the shrilling of a cell phone. Tony pulled out the offending item and gave the group a sheepish look. "Sorry," he said as he glanced at the display. "Gotta take this. It's about the case." He shot Rhian a meaningful look before stepping out of the room as he answered the phone.

Wilson stared after the American then turned back to the screen. "You were about to say?"

"I understand there's some stolen jewelry? What's been done about that?"

"Rhian and Tony have already been out canvassing the local pawnshops. As yet it has not turned up. We are waiting to hear from one of your man's contacts on the matter." Wilson glanced down at his notes and then back up at the screen. "What about the weapon? Any luck tracing that?"

"Registration search is running. Find anything interesting in Helena's office?" Gibbs drained the last of his coffee and pitched the cup expertly into the ashcan next to Tim's desk.

"She kept her Embassy office here very clean, if you know what I mean." Wilson shuffled through his papers and found the one he wanted. Skimming down his notes, he continued, "Found her purse with her keys in it, which let us into her desk where she kept her PDA. So far all her calendar entries look to be fairly straightforward. Her computer is a different matter, however. All her correspondence seems to be encrypted. We have someone working on that." He rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "What about Haggerty's office?"

Gibbs looked to McGee who cleared his throat and looked up. "Uh, not much there. Seems his computer was a laptop with a docking station. Take the laptop away and there's nothing of real value left behind. He must keep his whole life on that computer, because all that was left seemed to be just odds and ends. We couldn't find a PDA, datebook, address book, or even bank statements anywhere. We brought the contents of his desk back for Abby to analyze, but I suspect we're going need that stolen laptop."

"Looks like you have your work cut out for you, Agent Gibbs," Wilson commented, as Tony reentered the room.

"So do you, Wilson." Gibbs' cell phone rang just as he spoke. Flipping it open, he turned away from the vid screen and said a terse, "Gibbs." There was a moment of silence then, "Thanks, Abbs," followed by the snap of the phone closing without a good-bye.

"We've got a lead on that gun," Gibbs told both teams.

"And we appear to have one on the jewelry, so Tony tells me," Wilson smiled. "Isn't this interesting. Two leads for the same man. Shall we see who gets there first?"

"I don't make bets on catching killers, Wilson. You can come interview him at NCIS headquarters once we have him in custody." Gibbs glared at McGee and made a slashing motion. With that the screen went dark.

"See who gets there first," Gibbs muttered. "Pompous ass. You, Harper. You know how to run a search on someone?"

"Yes, Sir, I think I can manage." Edward sat up straight.

"Don't manage. Get me everything from birth to this morning on a Taylor Briggs. Abby's got the address and the Social Security number. McGee, Sinclair, you're with me." Gibbs was already moving, leaving the other two men to scramble. He threw over his shoulder on the way to the elevator, "I want that by the time I get back. And do not 'Sir' me!"


	20. Chapter 20

It was 2:30 in the morning when the sedan pulled up outside a modest suburban home in a small West Virginian town. Gibbs looked from the driver's side window at the front window lit by a flickering blue light.

"Looks like someone's still up, Boss." McGee leaned forward to see out the windshield.

Gibbs turned slowly back to him. "Ya think?"

"I'm just saying, obviously we wouldn't have to wake anyone—"

"I don't care if I wake the whole damn neighborhood! Let's go get this scumbag." He climbed out of the car leaving McGee and Sinclair, who'd been sitting silently in the rear, to catch up.

Gibbs and McGee quietly crossed the wide lawn, their hands on their weapons. Walter pulled out his own weapon and followed stealthily behind the pair, alert for anything out of the ordinary.

When they reached the porch, Gibbs motioned for the other two men to take up flanking positions on either side of the door. Then he knocked and called out loudly, "Taylor Briggs! NCIS! Open up!"

The agents could hear noise from inside the house and Gibbs jerked his head toward Sinclair. "Check out the rear. Yell if you need backup," he said quietly.

Sinclair slipped off the porch and disappeared around the corner of the house just as the door swung wide. At first there was no one visible, but a young feminine voice called out, "Bobby? Bobby Watson? I swear if you're playing games with me again I'm gonna call the Sheriff this time!"

Gibbs closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "This is NCIS, My name is Special Agent Gibbs and I'm looking for a Taylor Briggs. Now!"

Now the young woman sounded angry. "Dammit, Bobby, this ain't funny. Do you have any idea what time it is?" The porch light suddenly flicked on, momentarily blinding the agents.

Gibbs blinked and when he could see again, there stood a young dark-haired girl with wide shocked dark eyes, who couldn't be more than sixteen. She was wearing a skimpy top that barely covered her and stopped well before her pierced navel. The bottom half was no better. She wore a pair of tiny shorts with the waistband rolled down for some inexplicable reason, exposing even more of her. She was flanked by two blondes dressed almost identically, also with pierced navels, though the older one had a pierced eyebrow as well.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, stunned.

"Special Agent Jethro Gibbs, NCIS," he said holding up his badge for her inspection. "I'm looking for Taylor Briggs. Is he here?" Gibbs knew by now Taylor had likely made good an escape and they'd be lucky to catch up with the man.

"I'm Taylor," said the brunette in a frightened southern drawl.

Gibbs stared and it was all he could do not to throw his hands up in the air. According to the gun registry Taylor Briggs was a man. How in the hell had this gotten so screwed up?

The blonde with the pierced eyebrow took a step forward. "Like, Dude, what's the deal?" She looked around and spied McGee as he stepped away from his position at the side of the door. "Hey, you're cute!"

"Enough!" Gibbs glared at the young women for a minute, as Walter rejoined them on the porch. "How old are you?" Gibbs finally snapped out.

Walter holstered his weapon, his soft comment just reaching Gibbs ears. "I dare say, not old enough for our purposes." The older man turned and shot him a sharp look.

"I'm twenty-one," answered Taylor. The youngest of the three had yet to speak and she looked near tears. Miss Pierced Eyebrow stood back with an enigmatic smile on her face, as if waiting to see what he would do next.

"Let me see your ID," he barked out and Taylor flinched slightly.

"My wallet got stolen. All I got is my replacement driver's license. Everything else is gone." She paused as she was turning away from the door. "Let me see your ID, again, mister."

Gibbs gave a half smile. At least she wasn't completely foolish. He held out his ID card for her to examine, then flipped the case around to show the badge. "Your turn."

Taylor nodded and motioned them in while the blonde with the pierced eyebrow looked them over critically. "Think it's really safe to let them in, Tay?"

The brunette looked over her shoulder and gave half a shrug. "S'pose so. If they were going to rape us or kill us, Missy, they'd have made their move by now. 'Sides, it was getting cold standing by the door."

They followed the women into the house, Taylor flicking on lights as they went. When they reached the living room, Missy picked up a remote control and thumbed off the television while kicking sleeping bags out of the way. She turned to the men. "Have a seat. It's not much, but it's all we've got."

The room was clean and moderately well kept. It was clear that someone made an effort to take care of the house. Gibbs seated himself on the sofa, McGee beside him and Sinclair took a seat in a nearby chair.

Taylor returned with her ID and handed it to Gibbs. While he examined the license, the young woman explained, "Missy's my cousin. She's nineteen and spends a lot of time here, helping me take care of the place. Heather," she nodded to the other blonde, "is my little sister. She's sixteen."

Gibbs handed back Taylor's license. "So this is your place, then, Miss Briggs?"

She shook her head. "My folks house. But Mama's dead. And Daddy's probably gettin' drunk or sleepin' it off somewhere." She shrugged, as if this were a common occurrence for her. And, Gibbs sadly reflected, it probably was.

"Miss Briggs," Gibbs said calmly, "I need to ask you some questions. You said your wallet was stolen? Do you remember when that was?"

Taylor pursed her lips for a moment. "Well, it was when we took Heather to get her belly button pierced. See, they don't do that at the mall, you have to go to this—"

Gibbs held up his hand in an attempt to stem her torrent of irrelevancy. "Just… tell me when that was."

"Good thing DiNozzo isn't here," McGee muttered as he scribbled in his notebook.

"Ladies man, is he?" Sinclair said softly.

"The young ones are his favorites." McGee shook his head.

Gibbs glared at the pair.

"Sorry, Boss. You were saying?" McGee looked up, pen poised over his notepad.

Gibbs turned his attention back to the young woman.

"Like I said, we went to the mall. To do some shopping afterward, you know, get some new cute new tops for Heather to show off her belly ring. Anyway, somebody stole my wallet right outta my handbag when we were at the food court."

"And this was…?" Gibbs found dealing with the younger generation frustrating. They could ramble on about the most unimportant things while remaining completely uncommunicative when it came to critical information. He hated having to drag information out of people.

"Oh, um, I dunno, like three weeks ago, right? Isn't that right, Heather?" Taylor turned to the blonde who hadn't said a word at all. The girl merely nodded her head.

"And both your driver's license and social security card in your wallet?" Gibbs had no idea what he'd get for an answer on this one.

"Well yeah, sure my license was. My social security card? Yeah, I guess it must have been." She had begun twirling a section of hair around a finger while she thought about her answer. "Gosh. I guess I should get that replaced, too, huh? Didn't even think about that. I suppose I should thank you guys for reminding me." She smiled brightly at them.

Gibbs tried hard not to clench his teeth. "Do you happen to remember anyone unusual hanging around while you were at the mall? Anyone taking a particular interest in your conversation?" He somehow knew what the answer to this one was going to be, but he had to ask it anyway.

Taylor looked to Missy and both girls shook their heads. "Nah, there were a lot of people in the food court. I don't think there was anyone special paying attention to us."

Missy agreed. "There weren't any cute guys around that day, so, like, there really wasn't anyone watching us or anything."

Gibbs shook his head slightly. "Right. Did you file a police report?"

"Police report?" Taylor blinked and stared back at him.

"Yes, when your wallet was stolen. Did you report it to the police and file a report?" Gibbs was beginning to wish DiNozzo were here. He'd have gladly interviewed these girls and managed to get all this information from them, probably in half the time.

"Oh, yeah. Police report. I think I got one of those. Somewhere. Wonder what I did with that?" She stood up, moved to a secretary desk located in the corner of the room and began rummaging around through various papers.

Finally, from the bottom of a stack of pages, Taylor pulled up a wrinkled document. "Here. Dang. Can't believe I kept it. You can have it if you want it."

McGee spoke up as Gibbs looked over the report. "Actually, miss, you need to hold on to that. We only need to get some information from it."

Once Gibbs had scanned it and noted the date, report number and the reporting officer's name, badge number and precinct he handed it back to the young woman.

"Just one further question. Have you ever purchased or attempted to purchase a handgun, Miss Briggs?" Gibbs was certain she was a victim in all of this. Identity theft was common and it seemed that was what happened here.

"A gun? That's what this is about? Wow. I don't need to buy a gun, Mister Sir Agent Whatever-Your-Name-Was. Daddy's got about a dozen of them. And he's not real careful about locking them up." She shook her head. "That's how Mama died. Now I know more about gun safety than Daddy ever did. I had Uncle Pete show me everything. I make sure they're all locked up. Even when Daddy's too drunk to."

All three agents looked at each other for a beat. "Taylor, do you know all the guns in your father's collection?" Walter asked quietly. "Is there any chance one could be registered in your name?"

"My name? Why would Daddy do that? I know every gun in that safe, though." She looked from man to man. "Why?"

"Would you know if one was missing?" McGee asked.

"Absolutely. But there isn't." For the first time that night she began to look nervous.

"Are you certain? Can you check for us right now?" Gibbs asked her with quiet urgency.

She looked to Heather. "I don't like to open the gun safe with anyone younger than me in the house."

Missy spoke up, completely serious for the first time that night. "It's all right, Tay. I'll keep Heather with me. I think this is important."

Taylor stood slowly. "What kind of gun you looking for?"

McGee flipped through his notes. "A Ruger. A—"

She stopped and shook her head. "Nope. Daddy don't own a single Ruger. Sorry."

Gibbs sighed. "Thank you, anyway, for your help, Miss Briggs." He stood and fished out his card. "If you ever need anything at all, you call me." Turning, he nodded to McGee and Sinclair.

Taylor looked at the card as the agents were walking to the door and asked quietly, "What was this all about? Really?"

Gibbs started to tell her it was nothing, but her dark eyes were serious as they studied him. "Someone using your identity bought a handgun."

"That can't be all there is to it," she said, her eyes never leaving his.

"Tay, honey, let it go," Missy urged, as she followed them.

"No, it's not," Gibbs agreed.

"Do I want to know, Agent Gibbs?" Her voice was quiet and steady, she seemed prepared to hear the worst.

"No."


	21. Chapter 21

Edward slid the last page from the printer into the folder and closed the file. He could only imagine how frustrated Agent Gibbs and the others were right now. Taylor Briggs' dossier showed "him" to be a twenty-one year old girl, and unlikely to be the person they were after.

Lacking any other directive, he decided to seek out the young lab technician: Abby, if his memory was correct. With nothing more he could do on Ms. Briggs' profile, perhaps Abby had something he could work with. He suspected it would not do to be found idle when Gibbs returned.

After one wrong floor and two wrong turns, Edward found the lab. Then he wondered how he could have missed it. The music was earsplitting, though not entirely in bad taste.

"Ms. Abby!" he yelled, so as to be heard over the din. When she didn't respond, he tried a second time. "Ms. Abby!"

"Huh? What?" She turned around and stared at Edward for a full beat before asking, "Do I know you? Oh, wait! You're one of those English guys McGee brought in here, right?"

Edward smiled and nodded. "Is there any way we could turn that down some? It's a little hard to hear you."

Abby grinned and walked past him to her stereo controls. "I'll give you credit, at least you didn't call it 'racket', like Gibbs does," she said as she dialed down the volume. "Better?"

"It's not bad stuff, actually. My younger brother would quite like it, I'm certain."

"Your younger brother has good taste. Now, what can I do for you… I'm sorry what was your name again?" Abby looked apologetic, her brow furrowed as she obviously tried to remember the introductions from several hours earlier.

"Edward. Edward Harper."

"Right. Gotcha, Eddie. What can I do for you?"

"I've finished the task Gibbs set me to and I doubt that simply waiting for him to return is wise. So I've come to see if you have anything at all I could be working—"

"Smart man, Eddie. Never let Gibbs catch you napping. Let me see what I have." She began looking through the evidence she'd processed when suddenly she looked up, holding up a finger. "Oh! I know!"

She motioned Edward to follow her, leading him into a small room off the main lab. Here Abby pointed down to a black and white photo. Or what would be a photo had its subjects not been all blurred or obscured.

"It's the best I could do and I haven't even started analyzing it yet," she told him. "The fire destroyed the fine details, so we can't make out any faces. Is there a chance you could recognize Helena, for example, from the back of her head?"

Edward sighed. Without details, the picture seemed nearly useless. Abby had been correct earlier. They would be able to match it to the original, if they found the negatives, based on this, but the reconstruction itself would likely tell them nothing.

He stared at it a bit longer cataloging the features he could identify. It was clearly an outdoor café of some kind, there were trees present. And whoever took this had their back to the street, because there were no cars in the picture. There was a low wall of some sort just beyond the cluster of tables. And beyond that, off to the side, in the distance… he stopped and cocked his head to the side. "Abby? What's that shape there, off on the edge of the frame?"

"Looks like the Washington Monument to me," she said as she peered at the photo and he nodded. "You know – that looks like it could be in Georgetown!" She deftly plucked the photo from Edward's hand to get a closer look. "Tables outside… lunch crowd, maybe? See that shadow there, and there… and that must be the sun over there…"

Edward cleared his throat to interrupt her puzzling. "Are there many outdoor cafés are there where you can see the Washington Monument in the distance?"

"Let me think," she mused. "The best bet would be Antonio's." She looked at the picture again, running her finger over a dark shape in the background. "That could fit. He has a low shrub that runs between the patio he sets his tables on and the edge of his property. And if you're seated facing just the right direction you can indeed see the monument."

"Terrific. It might be Antonio's," he said skeptically. "Even if we could prove that, how do we prove she was there? Last time she paid cash and used someone else's name for her reservation. I don't suppose she'd be careless this time." Edward leaned carefully against the table and looked at the lab tech, who was grinning from ear to ear.

"Doubt me not, Eddie-baby," Abby said, returning the photo to him and striding over to the computer terminal in the center of the lab. Her hands flew over the keys as she muttered, "Our anonymous photographer wasn't the only one snapping pictures around Antonio's." At Edward's confused glance, she explained, "Traffic cameras, security video from the parking lots, all that jazz. She's taking pictures, she's got to show up in someone's footage totin' a camera. Welcome to the digital age."

"Of course," he nodded. "I should have thought of that. But don't we need a warrant? And is this even a legitimate use of the data?"

"You bet your boots it is, Eddie. Traffic cams and the public security cams are government. I can access them, no problem. Now if I want private ones, those I need a warrant for, unless the owner chooses to release them voluntarily." She gave him a grin as she swept past him and into the lab, leaving him to trail in her wake. "But let's see what we can do with just the traffic and security videos first."


	22. Chapter 22

It was mid morning and they were following up on Tony's lead from the night before and his DC metro contact. Ziva smiled to herself as she remembered the disappointment on his face when he found out he wasn't coming on this little outing, though his snicker as the left they room did puzzle her.

"I need someone to pull background on all the players involved in this little drama, and seeing as how you know the area best… you're elected." Wilson had told him, straightening his tie and motioning the others out the door. "We three will go knock up Ms. Simpkins."

Now they walked silently past door after shabby-looking door on the third floor of an equally shabby-looking apartment building. Rhian looked around and said softly, "According to the superintendent, Leslie Simpkins lives in flat 3-C."

Ziva looked around anxiously and whispered, "Should we not have our weapons drawn? This is supposedly an assassin."

The British woman gave a soft snort. "Somehow, I doubt that Leslie is our woman."

"Why? Do you think that women cannot be capable assassins?" Ziva's hand strayed to her hip near her gun.

"Not unless assassins have come down considerably in the world." Rhian looked down at the floor and grimaced. "This place is horrendous."

"I have seen worse," Ziva commented.

"All right, you two." Wilson knocked on the door. After a moment a small, but careworn young woman opened the door to the width that the security chain would allow. "May I help you?"

"Yes, Ma'am." Ziva watched as Wilson assessed the woman quickly, then continued to speak in a soft tone. "We're investigating an incident that happened early yesterday morning at the Watergate Hotel and we believe that you may have some information that can help us. Are you Leslie Simpkins?"

Fear entered the young woman's eyes and Wilson hastened to reassure her. "We don't believe you've done anything wrong, Ma'am. We just need to ask you some questions." He extended his warrant card for her to examine, which she did, thoroughly.

Glancing uncertainly at the three outside the door, she sighed and closed it firmly. The security chain scraped and the door swung wide, giving the agents a full view of the heavily pregnant Ms. Simpkins.

As she led the trio awkwardly into the apartment, Rhian whispered to Ziva. "Yes, I can see where you'd think she was a threat."

"Is it my fault that Lenny forgot to mention the really pregnant part?" Ziva hissed back."

Leslie looked over her shoulder at the two women then motioned toward the sofa. "Please, have a seat," she said softly as she lowered herself slowly into a rocking chair.

"I'll stand, thank you," said Ziva, assuming comfortable but alert stance halfway between the door and the woman. In this small apartment, it put both within easy reach. She watched as Wilson settled himself easily on the sofa and Rhian perched on the matching armchair. The blonde was clearly uncomfortable in her surroundings, rubbing her thumb against her fingers as if wiping away dirt or crumbs, with a look of distaste.

She shifted her attention back to their suspect who wore her own slight grimace while eyeing Rhian and her obvious disdain. Then the woman sighed shakily and looked to Wilson.

"Mr. Wilson, was it? Sir, I don't understand. I wasn't anywhere near the Watergate yesterday. I don't know how I can help you." Leslie's voice quavered slightly.

"It's about the ring you pawned yesterday afternoon." Wilson drew a breath to continue but never got the chance.

"Oh, God! I knew it! It was stolen, wasn't it? Look I just found it at the welfare office, and well, we needed the extra money, 'cause Bobby was sick this month and I didn't think it would hurt anybody and oh, I just knew I shouldn't have done it." Leslie's words started off sensibly, but ran together faster and faster until she seemed to run out of air.

Ziva raised an eyebrow. Quite a speech. Either it was well-rehearsed or this woman panicked easily.

"Everything's fine, Ms. Simpkins," Wilson soothed. "Can you slow down and explain to what happened?"

Leslie nodded and Ziva saw her gaze flick to Rhian. Her mouth tightened and Ziva turned her head to see what Rhian had done to offend the young mother.

The British woman was currently eyeing a tidy pile of children's toys stacked in a corner of the room. Clearly Rhian felt this to be an appalling lapse in housekeeping.

Wilson cleared his throat gently to redirect everyone's attention. "We've recovered the ring from the pawnshop, ma'am. Was that the only piece of jewelry you found?"

She shook her head and said very quietly, "There was a necklace, too. A locket."

"What happened to the locket?" Rhian's voice was harsher than Wilson's and Leslie bristled.

"I kept it." Leslie said, somewhat defensively, to the other woman. "I knew it wouldn't be worth as much as the ring, but it would be worth something when we needed it later on."

"We?" Rhian asked sharply and Ziva frowned at the woman's tone. Even in interrogations it wasn't always necessary to be harsh.

"My children and I," Leslie said simply at the same time Wilson gave a slight shake of his head in the blonde agent's direction.

Ziva saw Rhian press her lips together in irritation. Then she narrowed her eyes and focused on Leslie's hands.

"Can you tell us what happened yesterday?" Wilson's voice claimed Leslie's and Ziva's attention again. Ziva watched the woman carefully as she answered.

"Yesterday was my day to pick up my welfare check." She looked around the room at the other women then focused back on Wilson. "When I was done there was this envelope just laying on the counter by where you fill out the forms. It didn't look empty, so I walked over and picked it up, thinking I'd see what was in it. If it had someone's name in it, I'd have turned it in, honest." She paused and swallowed.

Rhian looked at the woman and raised an eyebrow. "Let me see if I understand this correctly. You have children, plural, with another on the way, you appear to be unmarried and you're on public assistance. Is that correct?"

Ziva winced at the anger in the young mother's eyes. Suspect or not, the snooty Brit had no right to insult the other woman's lifestyle. It looked to Ziva as if she kept a clean, comfortable home despite her circumstances. Would that so many others had so much.

"How dare you come into my home and look down your nose at me! We may not be as rich as you but money isn't everything." She glared at Rhian for a moment before turning back to Wilson. "Unfortunately, this month, money was tight. And I don't have all the money from the ring, Sir. I spent it on groceries, yesterday on the way back from the pawnshop."

"Let's not worry about the money right now. I'm more interested in how you gained possession of the ring and the locket."

Leslie nodded. "Like I said, there was this envelope. And I knew I should just turn it in, you know, without opening it. But I was hoping that someone had left some money behind. I didn't know how I was going to pay everything this month, what with the extra doctor bills, and even though I knew it was wrong, I knew I was going to take whatever was in that envelope. When I saw that ring, I nearly cried. I knew I could pawn that for enough money to get us through." Her eyes were on her lap now.

Ziva looked at her critically. She believed this young mother. Not that a woman like this wasn't capable of such cold-blooded killings; she'd seen women exactly like this sacrifice themselves in order to commit a murder they believed would further a cause. She believed this woman because she saw none of the deceit and guile that such an assassin would require. This woman was genuine and honestly afraid that her lapse in judgment over the ring was going to cost her and her family something she could ill-afford to lose.

"I'll go get you the rest of the money from the ring and that locket now," she whispered, but Wilson stopped her from rising with a gentle hand on her arm.

"Ms. Simpkins, we don't need the money. We will need the locket, since it's evidence in a criminal investigation, but you may keep the money."

"You… you don't want the money back?" She was dumbfounded. "You just want the locket?" Wilson smiled and nodded.

"And I'd like to ask you a couple more questions. First, do you still have the envelope that the jewelry came in?"

She shook her head. "I threw it out in a trash can on the street somewhere. I don't remember which one. I tried not to think about what I was doing. I knew it was wrong. In fact, I had to walk around a while to convince myself to just do it, even though…" she trailed off and shrugged helplessly.

"You know," Wilson said gently, "if you hadn't been the one who found that ring, we might still be searching for it. Pawning that ring was probably the exact right thing to do. It helped us both out." He smiled at her and she looked up at him surprised. "Now, can you remember what time you were at the Welfare Office?"

"I was there about, oh, between 9:30 and 10:00 yesterday morning. I walked Bobby to pre-school, then stopped at the office on the way home. It's about ten blocks, each way."

Ziva's eyes widened and she spoke for the first time since entering the apartment. "Is it wise for you to have been walking so much in your condition?"

"I'm perfectly fine. A little awkward, but otherwise fine." Leslie spared a glance for the dark haired woman.

"One last question, I think, Ms. Simpkins and then we'll leave you alone. Do you remember anyone unusual in or around the Welfare Office that morning?" Wilson claimed her attention again and she furrowed her brow in thought.

"Unusual is tough. There's always someone dressed strangely around that area, so I really can't say. No one who looked out of place." She shrugged. "I'm sorry I can't be more help."

"You've already been a great deal of help. Thank you so much for your time. If we can just get that locket before we leave?"

Leslie once again struggled to stand and it was Ziva strode forward and lent her strong arm to assist the young mother. As Rhian rose, she brushed imaginary crumbs from the back of her skirt. Ziva rolled her eyes at the blonde's callous behavior. Rhian made a small moue of displeasure in return.

Walking back into the room, gold necklace dangling from her fingers, Leslie asked Wilson, "Did you mean what you said? About pawning the ring?"

"That it was the right thing to do? Think about it. If you or someone else had kept it, we would still be out there looking for it, no idea where it had gone or who had taken it. Now we have a place to start looking, thanks to you and your decision to pawn that ring yesterday."

As the three agents moved to the door they heard one more very soft question. "Was the owner very angry to find her jewelry missing?"

Ziva froze in her tracks and listened as Wilson carefully phrased his answer. "She hasn't even noticed it, yet."


	23. Chapter 23

Tony was ticked. It was his contact, his lead that got them the person who pawned the ring, why did he have to be the one to stay behind? Why not Ziva or better, Rhian? Instead he'd spent half the night putting together a profile of their suspect just to have Wilson tell him, "Good job, man. Now, why don't you go through the videos of the pawnshop for us and see what you can find."

"See what I can find," he muttered, disgustedly. "I know what I'm going to find." He sneered at the screen as he set up the video from the pawnshop, grumbling to himself the entire time.

"Spend all freakin' night with my hands on a keyboard instead of Rhonda, Rhonda… damn. She's never gonna return my calls now. And for what? The complete history of some welfare mother who's probably never even seen a gun in her life. Sheesh." He shook his head as he cued up the tape to the day in question.

"But ya think Wilson'd listen to me? Nah… He's gonna go chasin' down this chick and I don't even get to go along. I get to sit here and watch sewer dwellers get stiffed by Lenny the Leech." He thumbed the remote control and leaned back in the chair, groaning as two extremely scummy-looking specimens oozed into Lenny's high-end establishment. "Gah, you can almost smell them from here."

He tossed a glance at the computer to check on the database search that had been running in the background since last night. He was still trying to run down Helen Darby, Helena's alias. She'd thoughtfully provided them with a passport and international driver's license in her motel room stash, along with plane tickets scheduled for a flight to London today. The information made the search go faster, but he had nothing yet, including the hoped-for safe deposit box to match the key that had been found. Sighing, he turned back to Lenny and his not-so-petty-thievery.

Just as his eyes were about to roll up into his head, his computer chimed. Hitting pause on the VCR remote, he swiveled around and faced the laptop. Helen Darby, it seemed, had a bank account and a safe deposit box at Sussex Bank a small institution in Sussex, England.

Tony printed out the search results, taking special note of the current account balance, which was not anywhere near as high as he would expect a mole's private bank account to be. Unless she had another one somewhere else, she was getting really crappy pay for her information. He shook his head. Something wasn't right.

He poked and prodded the system, but the only other thing he managed to make fall out was a post office box in Helen Darby's name, also in Sussex. Leaning back in his chair, Tony thought. It seemed unlikely that she was using the post office box as a drop for her buyer, not so close to her personal safe zone. She had to be using it for personal correspondence.

He had just finished preparing the file on Helen Darby when Wilson and the others returned. He looked up and smiled. "So, how did it go?"

Ziva was the first to answer him. "She knew nothing. It was obvious she was a dope." At the absolute silence that greeted her statement, she looked around. "What? It was not her fault she was tricked into taking stolen property."

"You mean a dupe." Rhian said in sudden understanding.

Ziva shot Tony a quick glance and he nodded. He picked up the conversation. "So you got nothing from her?"

"She told us what time she went to the Welfare Office. The envelope was already there, according to her statement," Wilson told him. "We stopped on the way back and picked up the security tapes for that particular office, and with the narrowed time frame, it shouldn't take us long to search through them."

Tony muttered, "And by 'us', you mean me."

"What was that, Agent DiNozzo?" Wilson eyed him suspiciously.

"Nothing, ah, Sir." Tony picked up the file on Helen Darby and passed it to Wilson. "While you were gone, though, I did some nosing around Helena's secret identity. Came up with that," he said, nodding to the folder in Wilson's hands.

"You were supposed to be reviewing the pawnshop tapes." Wilson was reading through the file even as he chastised Tony.

"Haven't you ever heard of multitasking?" He grinned cheekily at Wilson as he continued. "Not only did I uncover Helena's secret life, I can tell you, to the penny, how much Lenny cheats his customers."

He casually rested a hip against the table as he continued. "I can also tell you that something's fishy with that whole set up of hers. According to the bank account I found, Lenny scams more in one day than it looks like your mole made in six months." He watched Wilson flip to the pages of bank activity that he'd included in the file. "Now either she's got a really stingy buyer, or something doesn't add up right."

"She has to have another account," Rhian muttered, looking over Wilson's shoulder.

"That's what I thought. But that's all there is for Helen Darby." Tony shrugged. "Maybe she's stashing another life inside that safe deposit box that will lead us to the real money. I mean, you guys didn't know about this one and you've been sniffing after her for months."

Rhian shot him a glare. "You know I'm really getting tired of your snide—"

"Leave it, Rhian. On this one, he's right. We never uncovered this alias, even after all our work." He fingered the envelope that held the key to the safe deposit box, now secured to the file by Tony earlier. "I think at least a couple of us are going to need to fly back to England immediately. We need the contents of this box."


	24. Chapter 24

Gibbs stormed into the lab. "Abbs!" He yelled over the blaring music. "Have you seen…" He stopped dead in his tracks, hardly believing he'd walked into a crime lab. There were two empty popcorn bowls, countless discarded cups of Caff-Pow and something else, and, it looked like, Klownie Kake wrappers littered all over the place. In the midst of this were his lab tech and the British transplant he'd been searching for, eyes fixed on the plasma screen watching a bad black and white video and eating some unidentifiable chocolate candy from a pile on her desk.

"What the hell is going on here?" he roared. "Those had better not be home movies!"

Abby flipped a look over her shoulder. "Gibbs! You're finally back!" She paused the tape and spun around in her lab chair. "Wait until Eddie and I tell you what we've found! Well, not _found_ yet, almost found. Are looking to find. Might be able to find."

"Abby…" Gibbs said threateningly. "How many Caff-Pows have you had?"

"Only four. But this is really crappy video and we've been going through it since about eleven last night. Straight, Bossman. We wanted to have something for you when you got back."

Gibbs sighed. "What have you got, Abbs?"

She pointed to Edward to begin and the blond man cleared his throat. "Ah, yes S-s-, uh, Agent Gibbs. Once I'd finished that profile on Ms. Briggs, I thought I'd see if there was something else for me to work on until you returned. By the way, that was indeed who you found, wasn't it, a Miss Taylor Briggs, twenty-one years—"

"I saw the profile on your desk, Harper. Yes, that's the person we found. I want to know what _you're_ doing."

"Right, Sir. Sorry." Edward winced as the 'Sir' slipped out automatically. Gibbs suppressed a smile. He listened as the other man detailed how he came to be in the lab, with Abby jumping in, clearly anxious to tell the whole story.

"… so I downloaded all the surveillance footage for the area and we've been watching it all, trying to find something to help us," she finished.

"Okay, Abbs. Get back to it. Oh, and clean up this place." Gibbs shook his head as he looked around. "It's a wreck."

Abby and Edward looked around at the detritus from their overnight video session. "Guess we did get a bit carried away with the Klownie Kakes, didn't we?" Abby said ruefully, picking up some of the wrappers and depositing them in the trash.

"Not your fault, my dear," Edward replied picking up the remainder. "I believe we were rather caught up in watching that plump tourist who was enamored of those birds."

Abby laughed. "Yeah, I was sure we had something there. Wasn't 'til she started aiming her camera further up and up that I realized she wasn't going after people."

Edward stopped and thought for a moment. "Maybe we're just looking from the wrong angle. Maybe we haven't seen anything because they're out of the frame."

"But we've been looking at these tapes all night. We should have seen the right one by now."

He shook his head. "Let's go to lunch. I want to see this place. I'll bet we can find the right camera then."

Abby perked up. "Lunch? You buying?"

Edward smiled and held out his arm for her.


	25. Chapter 25

"Sir, I'll be happy to make the trip for you." Rhian's voice was earnest. "But not if he's going."

"That's not fair! I've never been to England. And besides, I found the bank. Without me there wouldn't be anything to go to." Tony tried to plead his case while Ziva chuckled quietly.

"Any of us could have done that search once we had the name and ID to work with," Rhian said coldly.

"Any of us could have done that search," he mocked her and she nearly stuck her tongue out at him.

Wilson rubbed his temples. "Ziva, you haven't said anything at all in this discussion. Don't you care whether or not you go to England?"

"I've been to England, it does not really matter to me if I go there again." She shrugged.

"Good," Rhian said decisively. "Then let her and I go. We'll be back in no time with the information."

"Hold on. I hate to burst your bubble, Rhian, but I'm afraid I should be the one to go." Wilson turned to the young woman. "I'm the head of the staff for this investigation, and as such I'm going to need to handle the paperwork to get the box opened for us."

"Right, Sir. Of course. But you'll need me with you. I'll pack my bag," she said with confidence.

"What I need is for you to stay here and keep an eye on this end of the investigation. Whatever else happened, she died here. We need to keep looking for her killer." Wilson looked around the table.

Rhian nodded, slightly deflated, but still determined to make the best of it. "Excellent, then. I'm sure Ziva and I can handle things admirably while you're gone, Sir."

"Rhian, quit rushing me." He eyed Tony and Ziva. "Is Ziva the only one of you with experience in intelligence?"

Tony started to open his mouth but Ziva beat him to it. "I wouldn't say Tony is lacking in intelligence, he is simply rather foolish sometimes." As the man in question smirked at her, Ziva continued. "In answer to your question, I believe that I am the far more experienced intelligence operative."

"Despite her obvious language difficulties," Tony added, quietly.

"I heard that, DiNozzo," Ziva shot back.

"Are you two quite through?" Wilson folded his hands on his desk. "All right, then. I would much prefer to take Walter, who is already familiar with this case. However, it appears, Officer David, that you and I will be making this trip. We will have the Embassy set you up as a diplomatic courier for me. Then there will be no hassles going through customs."

Rhian felt her stomach sink. That meant she was stuck here with… him! Oh, God, no! How in the hell could Wilson do this to her? She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together to keep from screaming. Either at her boss for the unfairness of it all. Or at the man seated beside her, whose company she would now have to endure for several days unabated.

She glanced sideways to find Tony grinning oh-so-confidently at her.

"What do you say we do lunch, partner?"

"Over my dead body."


	26. Chapter 26

Abby and Edward sat at a table on the edge of the patio at Antonio's. He looked around, subtly, gauging the angle and distance in the burned photograph. Abby sat peering over the top of a pair of dark sunglasses, studiously avoiding eye contact with everyone.

"Um, Abby?" Edward began, hesitantly

"What?" She snapped her gaze to him.

"I think you can take off the dark glasses, if it makes it easier."

"Eddie! We're supposed to be inconspicuous!" She shook her head at him.

He took in her clothing, including the black fingerless gloves she wore and the black lace parasol propped against the chair between them. "As you say."

"I think I've figured it out, though," she told him.

"Did you? I think I may have it as well. Tell me your theory and I'll tell you mine; we'll see if they match."

Abby grinned. "Three tables over. You'd have the correct angle view of the monument, back to the street, facing the hedge. And you'd be out of the view of every camera's tapes we've watched so far."

"My thoughts exactly," Edward agreed. "Now, where do we find a camera that would show the correct scene?" He shifted in his seat and looked back along the sight line. But it was Abby that spotted it first.

"We're looking in the wrong direction!" She pointed to the intersection. "We want the camera from the other street at the intersection. We only took the one from this street, not the cross street." Edward followed where her outstretched arm indicated a camera pointing across the intersection just a short distance away. "It should be wide angle enough to get the patio. Just," Abby explained.

"I think you may be right," he nodded slowly. The others are just a little too close to get the entire patio. These edge tables would be cut out of the frame." He turned and smiled, satisfied with the outing's results. "Now that that's settled, would you like to order lunch?"

Abby smiled at him. "Sure, that'd be great!"

He returned her smile. Her good humor was infectious and soon they were laughing over the small salad before their meal.

"So, Eddie, tell me about yourself," she said, as the laughter died away.

"Oh, there's not much to tell, really. I'm afraid I'm just not all that interesting." He gave her a brief smile and looked away.

"Nonsense. Everybody's interesting. Where are you from? Besides England, that is." Abby tried to catch his eye, but he was determined to avoid her gaze.

"Abby…"

"I grew up near a junkyard. Used to love to go through the old wrecks. That's how I got into forensics, you know." She waited for him to respond.

"Really? Your story sounds far more interesting than mine." He watched her with curiosity, but she smiled at him and shook her head.

"Oh no, you're not getting out of it that easy. I really do want to know about you. I just told you that to get the conversation started. You know," she said, as she gestured with her fork, "how much weirder can you get than growing up going through old junkyard wrecks?"

Seeing he wasn't going to escape this conversation, he sighed. "Were you not wealthy then?" he asked, trying to put off his own embarrassment as long as possible. At her headshake, he nodded and continued. "My family wasn't very well off, either." Not like Rhian's or Walter's," he explained quietly. "In fact, we were quite poor when I was a child."

"So? What difference does that make?" Abby took another bite of her salad and made a 'go on' motion with her hand.

"In London it makes a hell of a difference. Education, privilege, everything. It all matters. Everywhere you go. Especially when you work with those who come from the upper classes. It's just ingrained in them to look down on us."

"You're kidding, right? I mean, Ducky's from England and he's not like that."

"I don't know your Ducky well enough to know, Abby," Edward said still quiet. "But I would guess he's from the upper end of the scale and not the lower. As for the prejudice, does it really surprise you? Don't you have prejudice here?"

"Well, yeah I guess we do, but not the way you do. I mean here, it's Any Kid Can Grow Up To Become President. Not that we don't have prejudice here; it's just based on all sorts of dumb things, like the color of people's skin." Abby lapsed into silence as she thought through this. Finally she asked, "Do the people you work with give you a hard time because you're not rich?"

Edward smiled. Abby was a smart girl to pick up on that. "Walter's not such a bad sort," he shrugged. "He means well and doesn't usually let the whole class bias get in the way."

"What about, what was her name?" Abby pushed away her empty salad plate.

"Rhian. She keeps people at arm's length anymore, and she has her reasons. But it makes it easier for her to use that upper class, lower class thing to put me in my place. Especially when things aren't going her way." Edward sighed and smiled up at the waiter who took away their salad plates.

"I understand it, and it doesn't bother me the way it used to. But I would do anything to be their equal. To be able to give my little brother the things that I didn't have." He looked up at Abby. "They have so much and they think so little of it. Gerard, my brother, has so little and works so hard for it. I'm doing all I can to help him."

"Help him what?" Abby sat back as their lunch was placed in front of them. Edward picked up his fork and toyed with his lunch.

"He's putting himself through school to become a doctor." Edward concentrated on his food for a moment.

"That is a lot of hard work," Abby agreed.

"He's very dedicated. And he's earned some scholarships. But not enough to pay for everything. He studies whenever he's not working. And it seems he's always working." He looked up and sighed. "I give him what I can spare, but he knows I don't have a lot either. You don't make much working for her Majesty. At least not in my capacity."

Abby nodded. "I'm sure your brother appreciates everything you do for him."

"I just wish it could be more. He's such a good kid."


	27. Chapter 27

Rhian sat in the car fuming. How dare Wilson order her to have lunch with him and be nice to him, no less! She let out a disgusted huff and stared out the side window.

Tony let out a small sigh. His face seemed to show a certain displeasure, but she wasn't sure she cared to know the reason. "You know, I really am not such a bad person, once you get to know me," he said quietly.

"That would be your opinion," she muttered.

He rolled his eyes. "Right. And you've been such a ray of sunshine yourself."

"I didn't ask for this!" she exploded, flinging out her hands as if to indicate the whole situation.

"Neither did I!" he returned forcefully as he turned his head for a second to glare at her.

Silence reigned in the car in the wake of their outburst. After a moment, Tony said in a quiet, even tone, "Truce?"

"I suppose," she responded, without hostility. He pressed his lips together, and she was grateful then that he chose not to say anything in response.

He parked the car a couple of blocks from the area he referred to as the Mall and got out. She did not wait to see if he would open her door or not, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself. She waited by the door, as he walked, obliviously it seemed, toward the front of the car. Then he stopped and looked over at her. "I know this great out-of-the-way place for lunch," he said, simply.

She stepped away from the vehicle, watching him as he clicked the locks with the key fob, and she answered evenly, "It's your town."

He led her toward the Mall but suddenly turned down a side street. Soon they were walking up to one of the memorials that were scattered throughout the city. She was surprised that, instead of skirting the landmark, he walked through it, slowing down as he did so. She dropped back a bit and found herself studying him as he walked along the short walls of the memorial. His eyes were downcast, on the names engraved there, and as he moved along the memorial, her eyes were drawn down to the names as well, along with tributes that others had left.

Glancing up, she realized that Tony had stopped. He was staring down at a spot on the wall. Slowly he crouched down and ran his fingers over one name in particular. She stepped closer to see, but he sensed her presence and stood quickly, jerking his chin in the direction they had been walking.

"Café's up here."

"What monument is that?" she asked quietly, when they were a few dozen yards away from it.

"Law Enforcement Officers' Memorial," he said in clipped tones.

She didn't understand. "Why bring me?" Clearly it was someone he knew. And clearly it wasn't something he wanted to share with her.

He stopped abruptly and turned to her. "I hadn't intended to," he said, his tone brittle. "When I realized how close we were… I just decided to go by." He started walking again, speaking very quietly. Rhian struggled to hear. "It's been a year since she died. I owed it to her."

Rhian didn't know what to say. She felt like she shouldn't ask anymore about this woman, yet this was a side to Tony she didn't know existed. His next words made up her mind for her.

"Nothing to say, Agent Lawton?" his voice was emotionless.

"I was trying to respect your privacy."

He gave a short bark of laughter. "You would be the first. After Kate died, everyone wanted to know how I was." He looked sidelong at her. "She was my partner."

She paused a moment before asking quietly, "Killed in the line of duty?"

He gave a brief nod and a wry smile. "Mm. Murdered. Murdered in the line of duty."

There was shocked silence between them and Tony directed them to a tiny café off a side street. Rhian looked up and glimpsed the sign over the door; it read "Rosa's". He held the door for her and as they entered they were greeted by a smiling woman.

"Tony! _¿Donde téngale estado?_" Where have you been? The older woman came out from behind the counter and patted him on the cheek.

"_Hola Rosa! El trabajo me ha estado manteniendo ocupado. ¿Tiene una tabla para nosotros?_" Work's been keeping me busy. Got a table for us?

Rhian watched this exchange with interest, seeing yet another side to the brash and self-centered agent.

"For you, I make space. Over here." The woman switched to English and motioned for the agents to follower her chunky figure to the back of the small café and a tiny table. "You have to eat cozy, but I think maybe, you not mind." She grinned at Tony and left two menus on the table before wandering off.

"Best food in DC here," he said, still somewhat somber.

Rhian scanned the menu briefly, surprised to see that the food listed was a mix of cultures, then set it down. "What do you recommend?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and lifted the corner of his mouth in a near smile. "You're going to trust me?"

"I thought I might try it." She looked at him steadily for a moment. "Will you tell me about Kate?"

"Why do you want to know?" he asked, curious. Just then the waitress slipped up to their table. Tony turned to her and ordered two Monte Cristo sandwiches and iced tea for himself to drink. "Rhian?" he glanced at her.

"Oh, I'll just have… um… iced tea sounds good to me, too." She smiled at the waitress and turned back to Tony as the young woman disappeared down the aisle.

She looked at Tony and thought about his question. "Believe it or not, I understand what it's like to lose someone."

He returned her gaze steadily. "Do you." He made it a statement, not a question and this irritated her slightly.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I lost someone in Iraq," she snapped. "It's been a little longer ago than your loss, but it still hurts. More than you can know."

"Oh, I know. Do you get to visit his grave?" he asked quietly.

"Typical. You assume it was a man. Yes. I visit _her_ grave often." She pressed her lips closed as the waitress brought their drinks.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Sorry, my mistake. Kate's buried in Indiana. That memorial is all I have of her." He took a drink from his tea then looked Rhian in the eye. "So who was she?"

"My older sister. Maddie." She couldn't hold his gaze, her eyes dropped away.

"What happened?" he asked softly.

"She was a Royal Army nurse. And that didn't even have anything to do with how she died. Suicide bomber… killed twenty-three. It was her bloody day off. She was shopping." Rhian took a breath then picked up her tea, hating the fact that her hand shook. She waited for Tony to say something. Instead the silence stretched on.

Lunch arrived and Rhian stared at the unusual looking sandwich on her plate, wrinkling her nose uncertainly. It was deep-fried and more resembled fish filets from her favorite fish and chips van back home. She touched it hesitantly and found it even felt like the crust on the fish filets. And there was a dish of jam with it. Cautiously, she picked it up and examined it from all sides, attempting to determine was inside. "I'm supposed to eat this?" she asked Tony in disbelief. "Are you sure that's safe? I mean, anything could be in here."

He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, it's safe." He said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Just try it, it's good!" He picked up his, dipped it in the jam and took a bite.

Rhian hesitated for a second, then slowly mimicked her temporary partner's actions. "Hey," she said as she swallowed her first bite. "This is pretty good." She looked at the object in her hand with a different perspective. "A fried ham and cheese sandwich. What an interesting idea."

"Told ya." He grinned. "So, how long was your sister an army nurse?"

Rhian was taken aback. No one had ever asked about her sister once she'd revealed how Maddie had died. None of them ever talked to her, talked about her sister like a person. They'd all been afraid to, she could see it in their eyes, and she hated them for it. And the men! They'd all just assumed she needed some sort of masculine comfort and proceeded to try and smother her or take advantage of her. As if her sister's death were leverage to be used as a way into her emotions. Or her pants. God, how she hated that! It made it very easy to keep men at a distance. Keep everyone at a distance, really.

Hesitantly she answered his question, wondering why he asked. But he simply asked other questions about Maddie. And it felt good to talk about her again, to remember her like this. She took a chance and asked again about Kate. To her surprise, he answered. And they spent the rest of lunch talking about two women, now gone, who still meant a great deal to each of them.

As they walked out of the café, they turned back toward the car and the memorial, Rhian hesitatingly asked one more question. One she wasn't sure she should ask, but very much wanted the answer to. "How, exactly, did Kate die? You said murdered, but…" she trailed off, as Tony got an odd look in his eye.

"It's a long story," he said at last, as they were passing the memorial, on the other side of the street. "But she died from a sniper shot." He glanced over at her, and continued, quieter. "Bullet to the brain. I was there. I saw it happen. Hell, I was spattered in her blood."

"Oh." Dammit! She should never have asked. She looked over at him awkwardly, words dying on her lips. She didn't want to comfort him, there was no comfort for something like this. Instead, she remembered how she felt when she got the news about Maddie. This must have been a hundred times worse and she'd just brought it all back up. Making him relive the past instead of letting him live in the present. She finally said, "I'm sorry. I mean I'm sorry I asked. I didn't mean to make you… I think we were better off when we were fighting!"

Without warning, he laughed. "You know," he said, turning to look at her, "I think Kate would have liked you."


	28. Chapter 28

Abby and Edward stood in front of the plasma screen comparing a driver's license photo to the grainy black and white shot from the traffic camera.

"Think that's her?" Edward sounded skeptical.

"Gotta be." Abby leafed through a file. "It's the only one of Haggerty's exes that even comes close. At least out of the women we know about." She closed the folder, then cocked her head and looked at the less than flattering picture of the woman on the screen. "She definitely has dark hair," she mused, as she tapped her fingers on the folder. "His last three girlfriends have been blondes. Suppose that was just coincidence?"

Edward was spared the need for a response as Gibbs came striding into the room accompanied by the sound of the doors swishing.

"All right, Abbs, show me what you've got."

She turned around and gave the senior agent a smile. "We found her. Or at least we're pretty sure we did." Stepping around the older man she tapped a few keys on her keyboard and the black and while video skipped then began to play.

"That's Philip and Helena," said Edward, pointing to a couple sitting at one of the tables on the far edge of the picture.

"You sure about that?" Gibbs questioned.

"Positive. You don't spend six months tracking someone without recognizing their quirks. Watch the way she tosses her hair over her shoulder." Edward pointed out the move and Gibbs gave a faint growl.

"Had an ex-wife used to do that. Could be her for all you know."

"Watch again, Agent Gibbs. She flicks it over her shoulder with her hand and then smooths it down with the side of her index finger. She does it three more times in this little clip we have." Edward turned away from the screen and faced his temporary superior. "Each time she does it the same way. Exactly."

"He's right, Gibbs. Both about the thing with her hair and the quirk thing. Everyone's got them. Like you. You like to stare at people." Abby grinned as Gibbs gave her a steady glare. "Yeah, like that."

"Explain to me how this is helping us." Gibbs said, irritation lacing his voice.

"Watch again. But this time see if you can spot who's watching Philip and Helena." Abby replayed the clip and Gibbs scanned the scene.

"There. Dark hair, bottom of the frame, camera in hand." The video paused and he turned around to see Abby nodding at him. "Who is she?"

"Very good." Abby nodded. "She gives us one clear look at her face as she leaves later, and from that, I pulled this." Abby flashed up the image of a Virginia driver's license for one Robin Stevenson. "She was on your list of people interviewed for Haggerty, wasn't she, Gibbs?"

Gibbs said nothing, merely glared at the picture in front of him for a moment. As he turned to go, Abby stopped him.

"Wait, there's more." She switched back to the video of the café, still paused. "Now watch what happens." She played the tape forward, and they saw Philip get up from the table and walk out of the frame. A moment later Helena rose and to leave, winding her way through the maze of tables and chairs, until she nearly tripped over a chair which was jutting out into her path. The lone diner at that table stood, seemingly to offer apologies for her mishap, but the body language between the British agent and the stranger struck Gibbs as odd. Many more words were exchanged than a "So sorry – are you OK?" before Helena straightened and went on her way.

"Did you catch what Robin was doing during that little exchange?" Edward asked quietly.

Gibbs nodded tightly. "She may have photographed Helena trading information." He turned to go, but Abby stopped him.

"One more thing. We were sorting through the contents from Haggerty's desk. You know that man was anal? Kept everything, and I mean everything."

Gibbs gave her a look, and she nodded. "Right, well one of the things he kept was the manual for some tracking software for his laptop. Looks like our good Captain was a little worried about theft."

"This helps us, how, Abby?"

"The software sends out a coded signal that allows the company's monitoring center to pinpoint the location of the computer. I've already contacted them and I'm connected to their network, looking for Haggerty's machine."

"What do you mean 'looking for'? Can't you find it?"

"Not unless it's turned on, which it isn't right now. I'll let you know as soon as I get at hit, though."

Gibbs looked at the pair in the lab and gave a brisk nod. "That's good work, you two."


	29. Chapter 29

During the past two years, Tim had learned to gauge his superior's moods. By the way he walked or raised an eyebrow. Or often, like now, by the way he drove. Tim could tell when Gibbs was pleased, angry or simply determined from these simple actions. Right now, he was bordering on furious.

Throwing a glance over his shoulder, Tim saw a very pale Walter in the rear seat, stoically looking straight ahead, a trace of panic in his eyes. Tim not-so-fondly remembered one of his first rides with an angry Gibbs and sympathized with the Brit as he turned back to focus out the front window. In an attempt at distraction, he commented, "I don't get it."

"Get what?" Walter responded from the back seat, his voice only the slightest bit shaky.

"Why they lie to us. They never get away with it. Look at Robin Stevenson," McGee gestured with the search warrant in his hand. "She could have helped us, now she could be charged as an accessory after the fact, depending on what we find at her place."

"Human nature, I'm afraid, Tim. The old self-preservation instinct kicking in." Walter shifted in his seat and continued, steadier now. "No one wants to know anything at all about a dead body. Too risky."

McGee sighed, but before he could speak, Gibbs had his say. "I don't give a damn why she lied. I'm getting to the bottom of this and I'm doing it with or without her help."

Two minutes later they pulled up in front of a modest suburban home outside Washington DC proper. Gibbs was out of the car and striding toward the front door instantly, leaving Tim and Walter to catch up.

Gibbs was pounding on the front door as the other two men stepped up onto the small porch. "Robin Stevenson! NCIS! Open up!" Gibbs stated loudly.

The door swung open and the raven-haired woman shushed them frantically. "Do you mind? What will my neighbors think?"

Gibbs shook his head lightly as he took the warrant from McGee's hand. "I don't care what they think. I have a warrant to search your property for the photographs of Captain Haggerty and Helena Downey, taken by you at Antonio's café four days ago." He watched as she sucked in a breath. "Don't bother to deny it, we have you on surveillance camera," he said coldly.

"Also included in that warrant, Ms. Stevenson, is Captain Haggerty's laptop," Tim continued. This they knew was a long shot, but if there was even the slightest chance that Haggerty had given his laptop to her, they didn't want to miss the opportunity to obtain it. The mention of the captain's computer, however, provoked a reaction in her, as she was jostled by the recently arrived agents who would be conducting the search.

"Philip's laptop? I don't have his laptop! I have the photos…" She twisted around to see several agents beginning to sort through her belongings. "Hey, stop that!" She turned back and shot Gibbs an irritated glare. "Look, I'll give you the damn pictures, all right! But I don't have his laptop. Can't you make them stop going through my things?"

Gibbs looked at her impassively. "You should have cooperated with me earlier."

"Dammit! Agent…" she shook her head. "I. Don't. Have. It. I never did. All I had were the stupid pictures and I couldn't see what those could possibly have to do with your investigation, all right?" She twisted her fingers together, partly in anger, partly in agitation as the sounds of the search continued.

"What's relevant and what's not is for me to decide, not the witnesses. Now you and I are going to go for a little ride back to NCIS headquarters. McGee, you stay here, make sure you get me everything that has to do with those photos." McGee saw the woman wince at Gibbs' sharp words. "And see if you can't find Haggerty's laptop while you're at it."

Gibbs turned toward Walter. "Sinclair, cuff her." Robin blanched at these words.

Walter cleared his throat. "Right, Sir. Ah, do you think the restraints are truly necessary?"

Gibbs, who had turned toward the car, turned back. "You're riding in the back with her. You trust her that much?"

Walter looked the woman up and down very slowly, clearly assessing the likelihood that she would try to escape or do damage. "Sorry, miss," he said as he took the handcuffs Tim held out for him.

Tim nodded and thought about what Walter had said earlier; self-preservation wins out over just about everything. No way he'd have ridden with an un-cuffed suspect, no matter how harmless they looked. He turned and headed into the house to supervise the search effort.


	30. Chapter 30

Wilson and Ziva entered the Sussex post office just after eleven a.m. It was moderately busy, so they would not likely attract undue attention as they emptied Helena's post office box.

"Do we know which key on her key ring will open the box?" Ziva asked quietly?

"I believe that I can recognize a postal box key," Wilson responded.

They calmly walked through the rows of boxes until they found the one that Tony's research said was registered to Helen Darby. Then Ziva took the key ring, and with the indicated key, attempted to open the box.

The door swung open and there appeared to be relatively little mail in the small space. Discreetly slipping on a glove, Ziva reached in and pulled out the contents. Neither she nor Wilson worried about the legality of what they were doing, for Wilson carried documentation that gave him the authority to obtain the contents of the box. The show was for anyone who may have been observing Helena's activity. It would be conceivable for Helena to send someone to retrieve the mail from her drop if she felt threatened. The cops showing up would be a different matter entirely.

"What do we have?" Wilson asked quietly.

"Not much. Some advertising, a couple of bills for utilities. Why would she have utility bills sent to this P.O. Box under the name Helen Darby? Something about that doesn't make sense."

"Worry about that later. What else?" Wilson peered over her shoulder as they strolled away from the now closed and empty box.

Ziva reached the bottom of the small stack. "There is only this letter. No return address. It is postmarked six months ago."

Wilson slipped his arm around Ziva and forced a laugh, then said under his breath, "We're being watched." Louder he stated, "Why I think lunch is a grand idea, my dear. Shall we take the car?"

Ziva tossed her head and smiled, throwing a quick look over her shoulder and spotting the man in question. They were near the car and Ziva shot Wilson a glance. "Now?" she breathed quietly.

He gave a faint shake of his head. "Letter first." He settled her into the car and then stepped around the rear of the car, putting the vehicle between himself and their observer. Ziva noted the move and silently congratulated Wilson for his quick thinking.

Wilson slipped into the driver's seat and said easily, "We're safe for a while. MI-5 does a few things right. This car is one of them."

"We are sure we are not bugged?" Ziva asked.

"Unlikely, there is a system to detect that. But if you're that concerned, don't read the letter out loud." Wilson nodded toward the stack of mail in her lap.

Ziva picked up the letter and flicked open her knife to slit the envelope. Carefully she withdrew the single sheet of paper inside. And was immediately puzzled.

"It is addressed 'To Whom it May Concern'." She glanced over at Wilson, then back down to the letter. She read the first line aloud. "In the event of my untimely or suspect death there are certain facts that MI-5 should be made aware of." She paused and glanced behind them. "I don't think I trust anyone anymore."

"Smart girl," Wilson said. "What does the rest of the letter say?"

Ziva scanned down the remaining sentences then shook her head. "I'll let you read it, just in case someone is listening in. But I don't think you're going to like it."

They pulled up and parked at a restaurant one block away from the branch of Sussex Bank that they needed to visit. Wilson turned to Ziva and extended his hand for the letter. She smiled sadly and handed it to him.

Wilson read down the page and then closed his eyes. "Damn. Oh, damn you, Helena."

"Do you think it's true?" Ziva asked quietly.

"It's entirely possible." Wilson sighed tiredly. "We'll have to see what's in that safe deposit box."


	31. Chapter 31

Robin Stevenson was scared. She'd never been arrested in her life, never been handcuffed and never driven away in a government vehicle. Now she sat in an empty room, staring at a mirror that she knew was no mirror, wondering who was watching her. She swallowed uncomfortably as she fidgeted. At least they'd removed the handcuffs once they'd put her in this polite holding cell. She wondered what would happen if she tried to make a run for it, but she imagined herself being gunned down by overzealous agents and she stifled a shudder. She gave the mirror a weak smile.

After another fifteen minutes of this torture the door swung open and the same mean-tempered man who ordered the search of her home strode in. He was carrying a coffee cup in one hand and a file in the other. She pressed her hands flat on the table to stop their nervous tremor as she looked up at him.

"Miss Stevenson," he began evenly, looking down at the file as he flipped through it. "Would you care to explain why you lied to me?"

Scared though she was, she wasn't walking straight into the noose. "Lied about what?"

Now he lifted his head and pinned her with his eyes. Their piercing blue color fascinated and unnerved her at the same time. "About whether or not you'd seen Philip Haggerty recently. Do you have a guilty conscience about something else as well?" His tone was mild, his questions easy, but his expression was that of a tiger, ready to spring.

"I don't have a guilty conscience at all, Agent…" she looked at him questioningly.

"Gibbs," came the short reply.

"Agent Gibbs." She inclined her head. "I simply want to know precisely what I'm being accused of. Is that a crime?" She fought to keep her voice as level as his.

"Let's cut the bull. You know, and I know, that you were at Antonio's on Monday at approximately 12:30 p.m. I have traffic surveillance cameras that can confirm the time and your activities."

Robin folded her hands in front of her and took a breath, but said nothing.

Gibbs nodded. "Fine. I also have from your home the photographs you printed out, which were taken that day at Antonio's and," he raised his voice to be heard over her protestation. "I have your laptop and your digital camera which has the time and date stamp of when the pictures were taken, when they were uploaded and which picture is missing from the set of hardcopies you made. Now, what was it you wanted to say?"

There was no use denying that she was at the restaurant. Nor any point in pretending she simply had lunch. But what did any of that have to do with Philip's death? She knew she didn't kill him and she was starting to get a little angry at being treated like a suspect.

At last she responded to Gibbs' inventory of items taken from her home. "Fine. What of it?" she said defensively.

"What were you doing following Haggerty around with a camera?" Gibbs fished through a set of photos as he talked.

"I wasn't following him around." Now she was angry. Eyes flashing fire, she continued, determined to make the arrogant agent understand. "Look, Philip and I, we had a unique relationship. And we were supposed to have lunch together at Antonio's on Monday. Then all of a sudden he calls me up and blows me off, says he's got something really important to do. It wasn't that uncommon," she said, almost as an aside, so that Gibbs' would understand. "He worked in communications and when something there demands his attention, he goes." She flicked her gaze around the room, lingering briefly on the mirror that wasn't really a mirror. Then met those intimidating blue eyes once more.

"I decided I'd go to Antonio's for lunch anyway. I had some things I needed to do downtown—"

"And you just happened to have your camera on you," Gibbs interjected as he fanned the pictures out on the table in front of her.

"As a matter of fact," she snapped, "the first thing I did that morning was to pick up the camera. I'd had it repaired." She took a moment to get her anger in check. Then she went on, "I had a few other errands to run and then I went to Antonio's. I think I got there at about, oh… 11:45 or so." She sat back and waited.

"And was Captain Haggerty there?" She knew she was being watched carefully.

"Not right then. He must have shown up sometime after I did but before the waiter brought my lunch. I know I didn't see him and that woman pass me on the way to their table, but I remember looking up as I took a bite and there they were."

"So, what? You pulled your camera out of your bag and started snapping away? Come on, Robin. Quit playing games. Just tell me what happened." Her questioner cocked his head slightly and she could feel the weight of his stare as if it were a physical thing.

"You know, at first I tried to ignore them. But his words kept coming back to me." She could feel all the hurt and anger of that moment wash over her right then. She blinked away the angry tears that threatened.

"What words?" Gibbs' voice was low and smooth, drawing her out.

She blew out a breath. "He said, 'Sorry Rob, but something urgent has come up. We'll have to reschedule for some other time. Thanks for understanding.'" Her tone was wounded as she stared at Gibbs. "He didn't even give me a chance to say a word! He just rushed through that half-assed excuse and hung up on me." She clenched her fists in agitation.

"Must have made you really angry," he said mildly, trying to keep her talking.

"At first I was just puzzled. But when I saw him with another woman acting all cozy at lunch I was hurt. And angry. Then I just kept getting angrier and angrier. 'Til yeah, I grabbed the camera and started shooting. I wanted proof that he ditched me for another woman."

"And he didn't see you?" Gibbs was making notes in his file, glancing up at her.

"Look at the photos. Look at your surveillance tape," she said, almost snidely. "It was just a bit busy there that day. No, he didn't see me. Obviously."

Gibbs raised his eyebrows at her tone. "Tell me what happened after he left. Why'd you keep shooting?"

Her brow furrowed. "Huh? I wanted a couple extra pictures of her. Then I set my camera down. A minute later she gets up and does the James Bond routine with that guy from the table. I was pretty pissed I didn't catch more of it," she gestured to five of the pictures spread out on the table between them. They very clearly showed Philip's friend and the unknown man.

"What exactly did you see?"

"She walked away, right? Only she took a weird path along the tables. I didn't think anything of it at first, but she gets next to this one and she makes like she stumbles." Robin met Gibbs eyes then looked away. "I was watching her, okay? She didn't trip. It was clearly an act." She took a moment for a breath. "Then she grabs onto the chair that this guy is sitting in, and he turns to her. Now I'm getting a little suspicious, so I grabbed the camera. And I see her saying something to him! Then she straightens up and goes on her way, like nothing happened." She shrugged and flicked her gaze back to Gibbs'. "When I told Philip the whole story, though, it really set him off."

"Set him off, how?"

"Well, the whole point was to show him she wasn't to be trusted. They'd just had lunch together and then bam! She's off having a sneaky conversation with another man. But instead of getting angry with her, he gets angry with me!"

Gibbs began to speak, but she cut him off. "Yeah, I know, what happened?" She looked away from the surprised face of the man questioning her and sighed. "I made him agree to meet me for lunch the next day. Told him I had pictures of him and the woman he was with. He was pissed. He said he'd meet me, but only because of the pictures." Sighing, she looked down at her hands. "Before he hung up, he said to me in that really quiet voice of his that I had just made the biggest mistake of my life."

"Did you argue at lunch?" Gibbs paged through his file, not looking up at her.

She nodded. "Yeah. I showed him the pictures and he was furious with me."

"Witness reports say it was you causing the scene and not the other way around."

"Yeah, I'm not surprised." She leaned her head on her hand and rubbed her brow tiredly. "Philip was like that, never raised his voice when he got angry. He kept it low and deadly. Always in control of everything. Didn't matter what it was, it was always just so with him. Man was as anal as they come." She looked over at the mirror again, then back at Gibbs, who waited impassively.

"I got pissed. I yelled at him, okay? I mean, he's blaming me for everything and he's just talking to me like he would the dry cleaner or something. I wanted some kind of reaction out of him. So I yelled."

Gibbs made a note in the file. "Why did you give him one of the prints you made, then?"

"I didn't give them to him, he took them. All five of the ones with her and that man. When he saw them he got this funny look on his face. Then he pulled them out of the stack and shoved the rest back at me." She thought for a moment then said, "You know, he said something strange, too. He said this wasn't what I thought it was and if I were smart, I'd destroy the rest of the photos. Completely. And I should get rid of all the digital data."

"You say he took five?" He waited for her nod before continuing. "Only one was found with him when he died. And it was burned. Where do you suppose the other four went?"

"I have no idea. He took five from me, told me to ditch the rest and the data and that was it. Your guess is as good as mine."


	32. Chapter 32

Ziva glanced idly around the cramped but tidy bank office. _Barely room for the chairs Wilson and I are sitting on_, she thought, resisting the urge to snoop through the branch manager's inbox. Upon their arrival, they introduced themselves to the branch manager, Geoff Shadley. As the two agents explained the situation, they presented their identification and the sheaf of papers necessary to access the dead woman's safe deposit box. Mr. Shadley had been understandably upset to learn that the box had been leased under a false name, further distressed that the woman in question was in the victim of a homicide investigation and the subject of an espionage inquiry. He was, however quite a stickler for procedure. Saying only that he needed to processes the request first, he gathered their papers and left them cooling their heels in his office. Leading Ziva to wonder if she had enough time to gather some intel on the man. Or the facility. Just in case.

After another five minutes Shadley reentered the room. "Thank you for your patience. All of your paperwork and your identification has been authenticated." Wilson and Ziva exchanged a look. "You do not approve?" Mr. Shadley raised his eyebrows at them. "I am sorry, but with a story such as yours, you could hardly blame me for having verified you and your claims on this matter." He nodded and squared up the papers on his desk.

"If you will follow me, we will release the safe deposit box to you now." He stepped around the desk and led them from his office to the vault at the rear of the bank. Another employee waited there and together they verified Wilson's signature on the release form. Then they took the key that Rhian had found in the motel room and located the box that had been leased to Helen Darby.

With the box finally in their possession, Wilson and Ziva immediately entered one of the privacy rooms and began sorting through the contents. What they found shocked Wilson.

"She's been keeping this all to herself for the past eight months? She knew before we did that there was a leak!" He rested his head in his hand.

"Who is Albert Rodgers?" Ziva flipped through a file slowly.

"Her superior. He'd be in an excellent position to do everything we'd blamed on Helena. And he'd be able to make it look like she'd done it, as well." Wilson picked up another document. "But is this a case of her catching him out or her covering her own arse? In her position she might be able to get away with blaming him."

"So then what do we have here? The truth? Or an elaborate set-up?" Ziva started handing the pages she had already examined to Wilson. "And who is following us, if Helena was indeed the mole?"

"Mm. First things first. We need to get these documents analyzed and we need to keep the originals secure. The smartest course of action is to use the bank's fax machine. We should be able to send out two separate transmissions. One to my office in London and one to Rhian and DiNozzo in Washington. That way we have two teams working on this." Wilson nodded as he scrutinized another sheaf of papers. "Then we see if we can store the originals here." He set down the pages that he held and began sorting out the documents that Helena had assembled meticulously over time.

"Why would we store the originals here?" Ziva asked as she scanned through another file. Wilson looked up as he answered her.

"Now that Helena's deceased and the victim of a murder inquiry, the only individuals who gain access to this box would be investigating agents in her death until the case is closed, because its contents are evidence. Even were she not a murder victim, the box would remain sealed until the contents could be inventoried by an auditor for tax purposes. After that it would be released to the executor of the estate." Wilson began sorting some of the documents in front of him into stacks.

"So without all that paperwork that we just presented, no one can get in?"

Wilson smiled. "Even with it. I'm now listed as the lead investigator on this case. No one gets in without my signature. Now," he looked critically at a spreadsheet, "as for who's following us, well, I'd say it has to be someone on Rodgers' payroll. He's the one with the vested interest in all of this."

Ziva nodded and flipped through the stack of pages that she held. "I think we will be using that fax machine for quite a while, but it is the best plan, I agree. Then we should have a talk with this Albert Rodgers, yes? He seems like someone we need to get to know."

Wilson smiled. "Yes. I wonder how much he and Helena knew about each other's activities."

* * *

Gibbs strode into the lab, followed closely by McGee and Sinclair. "Abbs!" he called out over her customary musical background. 

"Gibbs!" she called back from the floor.

"Abby, what are you doing down there?" He placed one hand on the counter and leaned over, peering under her lab desk.

"Rewiring." She held up a hand. "Don't ask." She plugged in one more cable then crawled out, calling "Does it work now?"

"Success!" came the return call from the back room of the lab. Abby nodded as she dusted herself off. She turned to Gibbs who was watching her with thinly veiled impatience.

"Are you through?" Gibbs eyed her, then shifted his gaze to Edward as he walked into the main part of the lab nonchalantly.

"Whatcha need, Gibbs?" Abby reclaimed his attention and he held out one of the pictures from interrogation.

"The man in this photograph that Robin Stevenson took. ID him."

Abby grinned. "I'm one step ahead of you. I figured you'd want an ID on our mystery guest, so as soon as I finished uploading the images from Robin's computer I started working on an ID for you. As soon as I have something, Bossman, you'll be the first to know." While she talked she punched the search up on the plasma for Gibbs to see.

Tim stepped forward and looked critically at the image from the photograph. "You know, Walter, except for the fact that his coloring is lighter than yours, this guy could almost be your twin."

* * *

Rhian paced beside the conference room table, a sea of faxes spread before her recently vacated seat. She knew she should be sitting docilely, sorting through the ream of papers Wilson had sent, but her patience was wearing dangerously thin. The door clicked shut behind Tony as he carried in a pizza and a two-liter bottle of soda. She looked up at him as he tried to find space on the table for their dinner. 

"You know, if someone hadn't already done it, I could cheerfully kill Helena!" she told him bitterly.

"Problems?" He'd set the pizza box down on a chair and was carefully stacking papers.

"No! Those go over there and these ones go in this stack. And yes, there are problems. She should have come to us with this." Rhian gestured helplessly with her hands full of documents. "Now, I swear, I'm not sure whether or not this is real and Rodgers is the one we wanted all along or if this is an expert bit of misdirection. It could take days, if not weeks to verify some of this information." Rhian's voice had risen as she spoke and she clearly frustrated.

"Rhian, breathe. Put down the files and have some pizza. It's nearly ten o'clock and you haven't eaten." He offered her a slice and poured some soda into one of the empty water glasses sitting on the table. After nearly inhaling one slice and half of another, he relaxed in his chair and said, "Now, talk to me about Helena. Not the mole, but the person."

She settled back in the chair and chewed thoughtfully. "Helena is… was smart. But she was always very scrupulous. When we first suspected the problem was in her office, none of us thought it was her." She shook her head and took a drink from her glass.

"We were fairly suspicious of Rodgers, actually. We spent quite a bit of time scrutinizing him. But we couldn't find anything at all to indicate that he was the one we were looking for. It was all on Helena."

She waved a hand at the pile of documents in front of her. "If this is all correct, Helena had all the proof we needed, all she had to do was tell us. Tell _me_. I was her friend." Her voice dropped and she looked over at Tony. "I don't understand it. If she was truly innocent and she thought her life was in danger, why didn't she come to me?"

"I can't answer that, Rhian. You knew her best. Was she trying to protect you from something she thought was dangerous? Or was she guilty and trying to hide it?"

Sighing, she finished her slice of pizza. "Well, I'm going to find out. Somewhere in all this there'll be something I can definitively tie to either Helena or Rodgers. Something that can't be ambiguous." She gave Tony a determined look. "I'm going to find it."

Tony sat back, finishing off his second slice of pizza. "Just let me know how I can help."

* * *

In the pre-dawn hours, Abby's computer chimed once. Then again, followed by several more signals. When she walked into her office at 6:30 that morning she was greeted by an array of flashing alerts. 

Setting aside the bag with her favorite morning delicacy inside it, a chocolate frosted donut with sprinkles, she grabbed her first Caff-Pow of the day and began tapping away at her keyboard. Glancing up at the screen as she typed, she cleared one ID hit after another. Finally she blinked.

"This guy has set a new record. I gotta call Gibbs."

Gibbs strode into the lab barely three minutes later, the team behind him. Or, well, the temporary team anyway.

"Talk to me, Abby."

"I found your mystery man," she smiled as she turned to the plasma. "You're gonna love this."

"No games, Abbs. Just give me the ID."

"Oh, I'd love to. Problem is, this guy's got nine. One for each of the surrounding states." She punched a button on the controller and nine driver's licenses appeared on the screen. Each showed the picture of the same man, their unknown figure from the photo at Antonio's.

Walter stepped up and examined the images. "How does one go about getting nine separate identities, anyway? Shouldn't there be safeguards against that sort of thing?

Gibbs glared at the man before turning back to the screen. "So which one is the real ID?"

Abby let out a small snort. "I have no idea! I don't even think his mom knows anymore, Gibbs." She peered at her monitor, tapped a few keys and a Maryland drivers' license issued to Paul Decker filled the screen. "If I had to pick one, it would be this one. It expires in two months, looks like he's had this one the longest, so it may be his real ID. I've started a rental and property search under all nine names, maybe we can score an address for this guy. A real one, since most of these are likely to be fakes." A couple of mouse clicks and the laser printer whirred to life. Abby hopped off her chair, collected the two pages, and handed them to Gibbs with a flourish. "The Maryland license and a list of the other eight for your BOLO's."

"Right," Gibbs muttered. "I want Paul Decker or whoever the hell he is and I want him in here by lunchtime. I want some answers." He strode past the printer and snagged the sheet on the way out the door.


	33. Chapter 33

He slipped the key into the lock and twisted, the locker door opening easily in his gloved hand. He reached in and pulled out the laptop computer that rested inside, slipping it in a briefcase. Then he turned and made his way out of the bus station, just another traveler passing through.

Thirty minutes later he sat at a corner table in a busy bar, the early lunch crowd chattering around him. He glanced at his watch then at the two beers sitting untouched on the table in front of him. The man he knew only as the Ghost was late. And though he kept his face impassive, he was getting impatient. At last he spotted the Ghost as he threaded his way through the crowd toward the small table.

The aptly-named newcomer was wholly unremarkable in appearance, the kind of person who could blend into a crowd. As the Ghost sat down, the two men exchanged brief nods, but neither said a word.

He watched as the other man glanced down at the drink before him and then met his own eyes with eyebrows raised in question. He answered them with a faint smile and a slight shrug. He then saw the Ghost eye the glass suspiciously and he looked away, expressionless, feigning an uncaring attitude. He watched carefully, however, from the corner of his eye as the Ghost hesitantly picked up the beverage and took a cautious sip. He lifted his glass and pretended to drink as well.

Eager to transact their business and be gone, he nudged the briefcase with his toe. The Ghost looked down, eyed the briefcase critically, then took another sip of his beer. At last he spoke in low tones.

"I'm taking the whole thing?" The Ghost's eyes darted between the bar and the door, never resting on him.

"No, just the laptop," he replied. He knew there must be nothing that could tie the two of them together. The briefcase was a risk of that.

"And what would you like done with it?" This time the Ghost turned his gaze full on him, but only for a moment. Then he was back to scanning the bar.

"I want it gone. I don't care how you make it happen, just make it disappear so no one will ever know it exists." He looked down at his hands flat on the table. "In fact, I don't care if you sell it, give it away, or even drop it in the Potomac – just as long as that drive is clean when you do."

The Ghost seemed to think for a minute. "I know a guy. Can make this thing virgin." He drank from his beer and nodded, then looked over at him. "But this is going to cost you. This wasn't part of our arrangement."

He tightened his jaw. It wouldn't do to get angry. He needed this man and he needed this transaction to stay inconspicuous. "How much?" he said at last.

The Ghost smiled and named a figure that had him clenching his teeth. While he struggled to control his fury, the other man drank from his beer.

Watching the level in the other man's glass drop, he relaxed some. He nodded. "Very well, but you're going to have to take the money from the account—"

"I expected as much. Write down your authorization code for the account and I'll see to it the correct amount is debited."

He bit back the epithet that threatened to escape his lips as he snagged a napkin and elbowed his still-full drink at the same time. The glass tipped crazily in the Ghost's direction, splashing alcohol on the man and he made a grab for it, so it wouldn't spill everywhere.

"Watch it," the man snarled. He eyed the Ghost in irritation as he scrawled out the requested access code on the plain napkin, then stood.

"I'm leaving now," he bit out. "I don't know you and we've never met." He dropped a couple of bills on the table next to the check. Then he reached down and slid the laptop out of the briefcase and laid it on the chair.

He nodded tightly to the Ghost, noticing the man was nearly finished with the drink he'd paid for. Without a word, he turned and headed out, carrying the now-empty briefcase. He allowed himself the barest hint of a smile as he passed through the door, walked down the sun-warmed sidewalk, and headed for his car. Spotting a nearby trashcan, he reached into his pocket and pulled out six empty barbiturate capsules. He casually tossed them in.

* * *

The driver piloted the car carefully along the interstate highway outside Washington DC. He wasn't feeling very well; he was feeling dizzy and he had a sudden pounding headache. He shook his head gingerly then had to swerve to get back into his own lane as a car horn sounded. He needed to find some way to pull over, but he was stuck in the leftmost lane and traffic was heavy. 

His mind flashed back to the beer he'd had with his "client" twenty minutes ago at the same time he struggled to focus on the lane in front of him. Then he dared to flick a glance over at the incriminating laptop on the seat next to him. Realization came crashing down. He'd been set up. What he needed was a way out.

God, his head hurt! It made it hard to concentrate. He couldn't be found with the laptop; he knew he was supposed to do something with it. What had the other man said? Just get rid of it? Erase it? Reformat it. That was it. He was supposed to reformat the drive. Wasn't he?

He looked around and couldn't remember where he was going. He knew he had to get off the highway. Changing lanes to the right of where he'd been, without checking his mirrors, set off a noisy reaction of horns around him. Confused, he looked around and he caught sight of the laptop once again. He was supposed to be doing something with that. He couldn't remember what, but he was sure it involved having it on. Didn't it? Reaching out, shakily, he flicked open the machine and felt around for the power switch. When his fingers skimmed over the button he glanced down to confirm it. As he did, he drifted back toward the left lane.

As he pressed the power button, he pulled the car sharply back to the right. The car fishtailed on the road and he fought it to the sound of more horns. He squeezed his eyes shut briefly and tried to think. What was happening to him? The computer next to him beeped and he turned his head to stare blankly at it. Why did he have it and why was it turned on?

Suddenly there were more horns. He looked up to see the back end of an eighteen-wheeler looming large in his windshield. He stood on the brakes with both feet, terrified. But he was going too fast. His car smashed into the rear of the semi with sickening force.


	34. Chapter 34

Wilson and Ziva entered the office of Albert Rodgers under the scrutiny of three very plain-looking men. Ordinarily, one would not notice these men, but for the past day one or another of them had been following the investigators' moves closely.

"Mr. Rodgers?" Wilson began. When the man behind the desk nodded, Wilson continued with his identification. "Lloyd Wilson, MI-5, Investigations. My partner is Ziva David from NCIS, an American agency. We're investigating the death of one of your employees, Helena Downey."

Rodgers' expression changed to one of shock and disbelief. "Helena's dead? How awful!" he exclaimed, his voice filled horror. "What can I do to help? And what do the Americans have to do with this?"

Ziva eyed Helena's former employer critically. At first glance he appeared surprised and upset, but his body language did not match. She exchanged a look with Wilson, then smiled at the slightly overweight man with the bad toupee as Wilson continued their prepared speech.

"Ms. Downey was murdered in the company of a United States Naval captain. The deaths are being investigated jointly by MI-5 and NCIS. At this time we're uncertain whether the primary target was Helena or Captain Haggerty and we're following up all leads." Wilson stepped closer to Rodgers' desk. "Can you tell me if Helena had any enemies that you knew of?"

"Helena? Enemies? This may be Intelligence, but we're only in communications here, not the spy business like you chaps. And Helena was the nicest person you could imagine. She was such a hard worker and so pleasant to be around. I can't believe anyone would want to hurt her." Rodgers looked between Ziva and Wilson and blinked beady eyes.

Ziva spoke up, as planned. "Were you aware that she was under investigation for selling codes?"

"Is this true? This was going on in my office?" Distress crept into Rodgers' voice.

Wilson nodded. "It appears that way. The investigation had been going on for six months. All evidence pointed to Helena."

Rodgers shook his head. "My God. I never knew." Fixing his stare on Wilson, he continued in a slightly more intense tone, "You have proof, you say?"

Ziva silently perched on the other side of his desk and slid softly into the interview. "Given this information, can you think of anyone who would wish Helena harm?" She tilted her head and watched him closely.

"No!" he snapped, looking perturbed by her familiarity. "I mean, I'd have to think about who would benefit most from her death, certainly."

"You do that," Wilson returned evenly. "Please. It would help us a great deal."

"Right." Rodgers nodded. He glanced down at his desk then up at the two agents. "If you'll excuse me then, I'm afraid I do have a full day ahead of me. I'll get back to you as soon as I possibly can."

Wilson smiled and laid his card on Rodgers' desk as Ziva stood stepped cat-like to the front of the desk. "Yes, of course. Thank you for your time, Mr. Rodgers. I look forward to your call. Your information will be invaluable in helping us solve this case." He met the seated man's eyes then turned toward Ziva with his smile still in place.

She kept her expression neutral until they were well away from Rodgers' office. Just as she turned to speak, he shook his head faintly. Impatient, she held her tongue until they were safely in their car and a good mile away from the building which housed that particular branch of MI-5.

"He was lying. He knew Helena was dead." Ziva sat back in her seat as Wilson negotiated the roads.

"That much was obvious, my dear. Now the question is, did he know because he ordered her death?" Wilson glanced at his passenger. "What's your gut feeling on this?"

Ziva shook her head faintly. "I do not trust him. He sounded too interested in the code selling investigation and not enough in the murder of his employee. Human nature suggests that the murder would have been more interesting." She glanced out the window at the passing scenery. "It does not feel right. He did not behave the way most men would in that situation."

Wilson nodded. "Mm. I thought so too. He was too… perfect in his reaction. Very just so." He glanced over at Ziva. "Unfortunately we can't arrest him for being too perfect in his grief. Let's hope Tony and Rhian have found something for us."


	35. Chapter 35

Tony leaned against the elevator wall, empty pizza box tucked under his arm, and studied Rhian. She stared at the number panel as if she were memorizing it, yet he knew that she was still seeing the countless faxed pages they'd left spread out on the conference room table. She'd protested when he insisted that she take a break and leave the room, if only for a meal, but he'd finally won the argument. As the elevator doors slid open, he stepped forward and held them for her.

"Rhian. Lobby. Time to get out."

She looked up and blinked. "Huh? Oh." She exited the elevator and nodded absently to the Embassy guard who greeted her. Tony followed behind, pausing when his phone chirped. He glanced at the caller ID as he flipped the device open to answer it.

"Hey, Abbs."

"Tony! Haggerty's laptop is on the move and you're the closest one to it." Abby skipped the formalities and was straight into the reason for her call.

Tony was tired, it took him a moment to catch up. "Excuse me?"

"Haggerty's laptop. It has a tracking signal. We just picked it up, but it'll take us forever to get to it and it's on the move. You—"

"Got it, Abbs. Stay on the line." He turned to Rhian. "Let's go. Now."

"What… where… we can't…"

"Haggerty's laptop. Forget about dinner. Let's go." He had already moved past Rhian and was now holding the lobby door for her impatiently. She stepped up her pace and they hurried to the parking lot.

Once in the car, Tony had handed off his cell with a very quick, "Abbs… this is Rhian. Now, tell her where I'm going."

Abby and Rhian were excellent substitutes for on-board navigation, and soon they were on Interstate 66.

"Dammit, Abbs! You know, I told Gibbs we needed our own helicopter. We are never gonna catch this guy in this traffic."

"She says to just keep going, it's apparently not that far ahead of us." Rhian paused then said, "You mean, you don't have a helicopter?" Tony narrowed his eyes at her for a moment before turning back to the road.

"We don't even have a guy to gas the truck," he muttered under his breath.

Tony drove, weaving through traffic until he hit a dead stop. Then he took the phone back from Rhian. "All right Abby, where are we?"

"Really close, Tony. Like really close."

He nodded even though the goth couldn't see him. "Yeah, well, there's a huge traffic jam." He glanced at the radio, and Rhian switched it on, hunting for a traffic report.

Abby beat her to it. "Traffic reports say there is an some kind of accident involving an eighteen-wheeler," she informed him.

"Great. And I'm stuck in the middle of all this. I'll be here 'til Christmas." Tony pulled the phone away from his ear and glared out the window.

"Come on, Tony," he heard Abby's voice implore him. "The signal's stopped just up ahead of your position! He's got to be stuck in the same traffic you are, just get out and go after him!"

Tony heaved a sigh and glanced over at Rhian. "Abbs says the laptop is somewhere up ahead in the traffic jam. You wanna take over the car while I see if I can catch up to the signal on foot?"

Rhian nodded. "Go on. Just don't forget to call and let me know what's going on."

He slid out of the driver's side door waving a hand. "All right, Abbs, where am I going?"

"Straight ahead, Tony. He's about 400 yards in front of you."

Tony jogged through the traffic until he came to the perimeter of an accident. Officers there tried to hold him back but he flashed his badge and they conceded, letting him advance. "Abbs? Still with me? Where am I?"

"The GPS in your phone is really close to the computer tracker signal," came the reply over the phone.

"How close," he asked, eyeing the disturbing sight of a car crushed under the rear of an eighteen-wheeler.

"Just a few feet."

Tony let his hand with the phone drop to his side while he made his way up to the car. He swallowed hard at the sight of a man mangled by the impact with the truck and looked beyond, into the car. There, on the floor of the passenger side of the car, a laptop computer was nestled in a small niche. It was amazingly untouched by the accident.

"What are the odds of that?" Tony muttered.

"Hey you, you can't be here!" The shout from behind him prompted Tony to hold up his badge and ID.

"As of right now this is a federal investigation. I need everyone to leave everything just the way they found it." He lifted the phone back to his ear as he stepped around to the passenger side of the car. "Abbs? Tell me I'm on top of the signal."

"You're there. You got him?" She sounded hopeful.

Tony looked at the dead man in the driver's seat. "Oh, yeah, I got him all right. Tell Gibbs to bring Ducky when he comes."

"You mean he's…" Abby trailed off on the other end of the phone and Tony nodded even though she couldn't see him.

"Yeah. Looks like our best suspect just TA'd his way into oblivion."

Tony took off his cap and wiped his brow, glancing at his watch. An hour and twenty minutes since he'd taken over the accident site. Now, a knot of NCIS and MI-5 agents stood around what remained of the gruesome scene while local police kept traffic moving in the other lanes.

"So, wait, now who is he?" Rhian asked.

"According to this driver's license, Paul Decker. The man Helena had contact with just three days before she died." Edward passed one of Robin Stevenson's photos to her.

Tony looked over her shoulder at the empty car. "Can we be sure it's him? I mean he was sort of missing his face." He remembered the sight of Ducky loading the man into the body bag and grimaced. Not a way he would ever want to die.

Meanwhile, McGee was picking through the rest of the dead man's wallet. "I know one way to find out." He held out items. "I've got a napkin with some kind of number on it and a book of matches from O'Donnell's. Isn't that over in Georgetown?"

"Let's see that number," Walter said stepping up beside him.

"Ten digits. Phone number?" McGee ventured.

Gibbs walked over and looked at the napkin. "Have Abby check it out. And check out O'Donnell's as well." He looked at Tony and Rhian. "It's time we pulled this investigation back under one umbrella. Meet me back at NCIS. We need to compare some notes." He then headed off, taking Walter with him to finish taking the witness statements.

Rhian nodded absently, unable to tear her eyes from the bloodstained car seats. With a shudder, she shook her head, then stepped over to McGee and asked him quietly, "May I see his driver's license again, please?"

Surprised, McGee handed over the evidence bag with the card inside. Rhian stood there staring at the photo for several minutes until Tony stepped to her side.

"What is it?"

"I've seen him before. I know I have." She looked up into his face, hers a mask of confusion. "If he's American, then how do I know him?"

Edward, who had been called away by one of the traffic officers, returned with an update. "The tow truck for the semi has finally arrived, they should have that portion of the accident cleared shortly." The group turned to watch as the NCIS flatbed tow truck pulled up next to Decker's car. "I'm off to interview the staff at O'Donnell's. I'll catch up with you two later back at NCIS?"

Tony looked up at the man, but before he could say anything Gibbs breezed back by. "Harper, before you go, help see to it that that car makes it back to forensics for Abby. Then when you're done, take McGee with you on that interview. And make sure that license gets to Abby, along with the rest of the trace. And DiNozzo, why are you two still standing here?" And then he was gone again, to talk to the officers who had secured the scene.

Edward glanced in Gibbs direction. "I think I'm getting used to him. Is he really like that all the time? Or is it just us?"

Tony looked over at his boss. "This is a good day." He shrugged and turned to Rhian. "Come on. We have some paperwork to gather up before we talk to Gibbs. Edward, here, you don't want to forget this." Tony handed over the evidence bag with Decker's license in it. Then he and Rhian turned and made their way back toward his car, leaving Edward and McGee to deal with the vehicle before they could head off to their interview.


	36. Chapter 36

Rhian was silent most of the ride back to the Embassy. Tony glanced over at her once or twice to be sure she was all right, but she simply appeared to be lost in thought.

Finally as they pulled through the gates to the building she sat forward and said decisively, "John Kinsey!"

"Excuse me?" Tony pulled around to the parking area and into their designated slot.

"That man's name. It isn't Paul Decker. It's John Kinsey." She popped the latch on the seatbelt and slipped out of the car. "Come on. If I'm right, I know who killed Helena."

Tony followed quickly behind her and she explained as they walked. "In that stack of papers up there," she gestured to the building, "there is a list that Helena compiled of Rodgers' contacts. Men he supposedly used as middlemen in his transfer of codes to his buyers. Kinsey is one of those men." They entered the building and Rhian punched the button for the elevator impatiently.

"Look, I'll show you when we get upstairs." She glanced over her shoulder at Tony. "Helena had all of them marked though. There were several of them. According to her notes, Rodgers would use them to not only transfer the codes, but for other odd jobs as well."

"Looks like odd jobs graduated to murder," Tony said grimly.

They quickly made their way back to the conference room and Rhian moved directly to one stack of papers. "Here!" she said, holding up several sheets stapled together.

Tony stepped to her side and looked over her shoulder. Helena had compiled data sheets on several men, employees of Rodgers. All of them looked eerily similar, in that they were all very non-descript individuals. Each could be completely overlooked in a crowd, and could honestly only be described as "completely average" by your garden-variety witness.

Rhian flipped to the page with John Kinsey's information. "There's your Paul Decker," she told him. Together they read down the information that Helena had on him. It varied little from the other men, listing his vital statistics, last known address and the fact that he was Rodgers' man in the States.

"At the accident site, didn't McGeek say something about Helena having run into him just three days before she died? What was that all about?" Tony mused as Rhian began gathering the papers up in preparation for transport to NCIS.

"Mm, actually I think it was Edward who told us." Rhian shook her head. "No idea. She wasn't passing him information, if that's what you're thinking. She knew he was Rodgers' man, she'd hardly set herself up that way if she was the mole. And if she wasn't, then…" She stopped suddenly.

"Then why go up to him and say anything at all?" Tony finished.

"What if she was trying to get him to back off?" she speculated. "She had a plane ticket out of here under a false name just a few days from that confrontation. What if she planned to spill everything, all she had to do was buy herself those few days?"

"Pretty risky move, if you ask me."

"Well, whatever she said, it turned out to be lethal."


	37. Chapter 37

"I sent a blood and tissue sample up to Abby, but I have my suspicions, Jethro. I don't believe this was an accident." Ducky looked up from the lifeless body of Paul Decker into the blue eyes of his friend.

"Why is that?"

"This man's liver shows some sign of having recently been exposed to a high dose of some toxin. I can't be sure of the nature of the toxin without a lab test, but it's possible that he may have been either drugged or poisoned shortly before his death."

"So what you're telling me, Duck, is that this man isn't an accident victim," Gibbs said steadily. "He's a murder victim."

"I'm telling you to check with Abby. Her tests will either corroborate or refute my suspicions. Regardless of her findings, though, I don't like the way it looks." Ducky glanced at Palmer and then shifted his gaze back to Gibbs, who nodded then turned and left Autopsy.

* * *

MTAC seemed filled to bursting with agents from both sies of the Atlantic. Gibbs and Walter were on a conference call with Wilson and Ziva at MI-5 headquarters in London. Tony and Rhian had arrived with their stacks of proof from Helena. The only ones missing were Edward and McGee, who were off to conduct the interviews at O'Donnell's.

"John Kinsey is one of Paul Decker's other aliases, according to this list from Abby," Walter said, flipping through the pages. "Or is it the other way round?"

"Oh, whatever, Walter!" Rhian snapped at him. "Either way he's dead. We can't question him."

"We may not have to," Gibbs said. "According to Abby's tox reports, he was drugged. Well over five times the normal dosage of Seconal. Somebody was counting on him to have a nasty accident."

"So all we have to do is wait for McGee and Edward to get back with their witness interviews and see what they turn up, eh, Boss?" Tony looked around the room. "He had to have been drugged when he was at that bar."

"Abby agrees with you. Seconal doesn't take that long to kick in. I think his killer was hoping that we'd find Decker or Kinsey or whatever his name is, dead with the laptop on him and not look any further."

Tony chuckled while Ziva chimed in from the plasma screen. "With Gibbs, nothing's ever an accident. It's always murder until proven otherwise."

Gibbs continued, "All I want to know is who murdered your agent and my naval officer? Kinsey, or Kinsey's killer? Was Kinsey offed because he slipped up or was it to throw us off the trail?"

They were all silent for a moment as they pondered the questions. Then Walter ventured a quiet question of his own.

"Were we able to decipher that ten-digit number?"

"Abby's exhausted the phone number option. Her next thought was banking," Gibbs replied sharply.

"Could it be a Swiss account?" Ziva interjected, glancing at Wilson.

Wilson murmured, "Swiss bank account… mm… yes… Rodgers does have holdings in a Swiss banking company, doesn't he?" while he started shuffling through the pages in front of him.

"Now that would be a coincidence," Rhian muttered darkly, as she leafed through her own reports.

"I don't believe in coincidences," Gibbs growled while half the MTAC staff tried to smother snickers at Tony's lip-synching of his boss' oft-used expression.

"Ah! Here it is!" Wilson separated a page from his stack. "I'll bet anything that if it is an account, it's held at this bank and, more than likely, it's controlled by Rodgers. Tell Abby to use these authorization codes. She should be able to get the all information she needs in no time." Wilson fed the page into a fax machine set up with a secure line straight to MTAC.

As soon as it printed, Walter took the page straight down to Abby. Gibbs looked to Tony and Rhian. "Do we have anything else that we can use to tie this whole thing together?

Rhian shook her head. "The best I can do is tie Rodgers to Kinsey, Decker, whoever he is. I have that solidly. If we speculate and say that Kinsey did indeed murder Helena, or contract her murder, I still need a way to prove that and tie it back to Rodgers."

"Wouldn't the bank account do that?" Ziva asked.

"Possibly. It depends on whose account it is and what it's being used for." Rhian sighed. What I need is one solid piece of evidence that ties Rodgers' to Kinsey and then Kinsey to Helena and Haggerty's room."

"This shouldn't be that difficult. We have the captain's laptop, now, correct?" Wilson commented.

"Yes, but you could make the argument that Kinsey just found the computer." Tony replied. "We need someone who saw him with that laptop in the hotel that night. Or to hope Probie and Edward get lucky and find us something."

"I don't believe in luck either, DiNozzo."


	38. Chapter 38

McGee and Edward pulled up and parked a couple of blocks from O'Donnell's. McGee hadn't had much of a chance to spend time with the blond Brit, since Edward had been working with Abby so much. But he seemed like a decent sort and from what Walter had told him, he was a hard worker, doing his best to make things better for his younger brother than they had been for himself growing up. McGee could respect that about the man.

They locked the car and headed for the bar, McGee falling into step beside the blond man. "So, uh, I understand your brother's studying medicine?"

Edward looked sharply at him. "Walter tell you that?" he snapped, a hint of bitterness in his voice

"Yeah. He wasn't betraying any secrets – he just said you were doing what you could to help him out." McGee stepped around a woman with a stroller as they reached O'Donnell's.

"Well, Walter's a good person."

McGee held the glass door open for him as they entered the bar, thinking that it seemed as if Edward had wanted to say more but chose to stay silent.

Together they approached the bar and showed their identification. Placing the photograph of Paul Decker atop the gleaming wood surface, they asked the bartender if he had seen the man earlier that day.

"That guy? I see fifty guys look like him in a day." The bartender leaned his elbows on the bar and stared at the picture. "Man, he's about as average as they come, isn't he?" Straightening, he said, "You're welcome to ask the staff if they've seen him. If he sat at one of the tables I doubt I'd've noticed him." He picked up a recently emptied martini glass and ran it through the sanitizer, effectively dismissing them.

Tim and Edward looked at each other and stepped away from the bar. Tim sighed. "Shall we divide and conquer?"

"Excellent idea. Why don't you take the front half and I'll take the rear." Edward gestured toward the four servers working the sections closest to the door, before turning to count up the number in the back.

"I get four, you get six? Fine by me." Tim grinned at the fair-haired man and turned to get started on his interviews.


	39. Chapter 39

Walter sat with Abby in her lab while she tapped away on her computer. "I love computers," she told him.

"Do you, now? And why exactly is that Ms. Sciuto?" The lilt of his accent and his single raised eyebrow made Abby feel that he was referring to more than just her statement.

"This bank. All I had to do was feed it in the authorization codes you gave me, and _Voila_! I have all the information I could possibly want. Well, except for the fact that the number that you gave me isn't an account number. All of their account numbers are twelve digits and that's a ten-digit number."

Walter frowned in thought and paced in front of her computer. "Does anything associated with that bank use a ten-digit number?" he asked finally, as he moved to stand slightly closer to her.

"A fine question, Mr. Sinclair." Abby turned and nodded decisively at him. She queried the system and found a number of consumer and corporate banking items that used numbers.

"I have two possibilities," she told him at last. "Certain term certificates of deposit, or the PIN for money transfers."

"A ten-digit PIN? Seems excessive." Walter mused.

She pursed her lips as she read from her screen. "Apparently this particular PIN is only used for large-sum transfers done from a remote location, such as electronically or by phone." Abby paused and glanced over at Walter. "You know, it's funny how much I can find out from this system, considering this bank's so big on account safety." She shook her head.

Walter cracked a slight grin. "Okay, so let's assume it's a PIN. Can we backtrack the account?"

"Maybe. But we'd essentially have to scan every account to do it." She bit her lip while she thought for a moment. "Of course. I should have thought of this sooner! We know that Rodgers controls holdings at this bank. Why not just see what accounts he does control and then try the PIN on them. Whoever's name is on the account, then…" She smiled

"That's our boy." Walter nodded. "Clever girl. How can I help?"

Abby turned and picked up her empty Caff-Pow cup. "Get me another one of these," she said, winningly.


	40. Chapter 40

Tim finished interviewing his third waitress without success. He glanced up to see how Edward was doing only to find that he seemed to be trying to catch one young woman in particular. She was burdened with a large tray full of food, and had obviously told him he'd have to wait. The flash of anger that crossed his partner's normally pleasant features was both unexpected and chilling.

Tim turned and found his last interviewee, a young waiter with a shock of bright red hair and a pleasant manner.

"Excuse me, but can you tell me if you saw this man in here earlier today?" He held up he badge and ID as he asked the question and the young man smiled then looked at the photograph.

"Hm." He placed a hand over his mouth and stared toward the back of the bar. "You know, that could be him," he mused.

"Go on." Tim got out his PDA and started making notes.

"Well, it was no big deal, really." Shrugging, he said, "Just this guy carrying a laptop computer without a case stops me as I'm heading to the kitchen and asks me if we have any matches." He stopped and looked at Tim. "Who asks for matches anymore?" He stared as if waiting for an answer.

"Obviously some people do, because you have ones with your name printed on them." Tim wanted to see how the young man would react to that statement.

"Yeah, we do. Don't get that. Customers probably only take about half a dozen a month. Doesn't sound like a good business investment to me." The waiter shook his head.

"Let me guess, Business Major?" Tim was making some notes on his PDA and merely nodded when the waiter replied with pride.

"Yep. Georgetown. I'm a sophomore."

"Well, Georgetown, do you remember what time the man with laptop was here?" He watched as the kid screwed his face up in thought.

"Oh, man, well, let's see. It was just starting to get busy in here for lunch. So, he left about say, somewhere around 11:45. Just a rough guess though. I'm not really sure."

"Thanks. You've been a big help. I just need your name and an address where I can reach you if I need to follow up with you."

While Tim took down the student/waiter's name and contact information, he glanced back at Edward. He was once again trying to catch that same waitress as before, but she seemed to be hurrying to the kitchen. She was very definitely putting him off.

And again Tim saw a flash of anger cross Edward's face. He thought perhaps he might have imagined it before, but not twice. He wondered what the problem was. Perhaps he'd go see if he could help.

"Thanks Todd," he said to the young man, almost absently. "If I need anything else, I'll be in touch."

"Sure, man."

Tim turned and headed to the rear of the bar as Edward finished up interviewing yet another of the waitstaff. When the tall blond man turned around he was surprised to find Tim standing behind him.

"Tim! Didn't hear you come up behind me." Edward slid a glance toward the kitchen and then met Tim's eyes.

Was it his imagination or was Edward looking nervous? "I finished with the staff in the front, I thought I'd help you with the ones in the back," Tim said easily.

"Oh, it's no bother. I've only two left. The one chap over there with the large table and one extremely busy young woman." He seemed to think it over for half a second then said, "Why don't you take the young man and I'll catch the girl next time she's out of the kitchen."

Tim agreed, though he badly wanted to offer to take the young woman. Something about Edward's proprietary treatment of her made him extremely curious.

He walked over to the young man Edward had indicated. He was just making his way from the table to the kitchen and Tim stopped him, showing his ID.

"Doug Marsten," replied the young man by way of a greeting. Then he looked at the photo that Tim held. "That guy? Hm." He continued walking toward the kitchen leaving Tim no choice but to follow. "You mean just a few hours ago?" They stopped near the busy entrance to the kitchen, but in a small niche out of the way of the comings and goings of the staff.

Doug started to shake his head, clearly uncertain when Tim said, "There might have been a laptop computer visible during all this. That can't be too common in here, can it?"

Doug gave a soft snort. "You'd be surprised these days. But you know, seems to me there was something about a laptop this morning." The young man's brow furrowed in thought. "Something about a beer almost spilled and then a laptop pulled out of a case." He shook his head. "It wasn't my section, I only saw part of it."

"Can you tell me what you remember?" Tim's voice was calm and level, even though he realized this could be their first real break in the case.

"I was coming out from the kitchen with a tray of food and just as I got near the table I saw the beer about to spill. I remember thinking, 'Oh, shit,' because you don't want to step in spilled beer carrying a heavy tray. But the one guy grabbed the glass and I don't think any landed on the floor. And that was all I cared about."

Tim nodded, making notes as fast as he could. "Then what happened?"

"After I served my table I turned around and looked back over at that table. I was going to tell Beth that her table needed a new drink, but I saw the one guy standing. He was pulling a laptop out of a briefcase and it looked like he set it on his chair. Then he started to leave. So I didn't worry about it."

"And do you remember what the two men looked like?" Tim looked directly at the young man.

"You know, I never really got a good look at either one of them. They had their heads bent the entire time I saw them. But one of them could have been this guy, I guess. The other one was tall and blond." The waiter spotted Edward standing nearby waiting for his last interviewee. "Coulda been that guy, for all I know."

A chill went down Tim's spine.


	41. Chapter 41

Abby and Walter stared at the list of accounts that had Rodgers' "fingerprints" on them. She'd broken them down into categories. Ones that he'd controlled completely, ones that he'd opened in other names and ones that he transacted business with.

"Every one of these accounts makes sense, except this one." Abby looked at Walter, who had a pained expression on his face.

"I know," he replied quietly.

"I can trace everything else back to Rodgers or a dummy corporation, but—"

"I said, I know!" Walter's response was sharper than he meant it to be.

"And the PIN fits the account. I'm sorry, Walter," she said softly.

"I'm sorry, too, Abby. We need to tell Wilson." He sighed and looked away from her dark rimmed green eyes.

"We need to tell Gibbs! Like now!" It was Abby's turn to be sharp voiced. "Or have you forgotten—"

"Oh, God!" For the second time, Walter cut her off and Abby nodded as she punched up MTAC where she hoped Gibbs was still in conference with the rest of the team.

She was put through with only a slight delay, then she and Walter explained hurriedly how they sorted out the number on the napkin. Gibbs cut her off before she became too technical.

"Abbs! Do you have something for me or not?" He stared at her through the screen.

"Yeah, Gibbs, we do. We know who Rodgers hired to pull the trigger and how much he paid him. But you're not going to like it."


	42. Chapter 42

Tim walked over to Edward just as the waitress he'd been trying unsuccessfully to catch walked up to him. He had an awful feeling this girl was Beth, the one who waited on the table where the Decker sat.

Edward glanced up at him then looked back down at Beth. He gave a tiny nod as if he'd made up his mind about something, then looked at Tim once again.

"Tim, this is Beth, the last of the staff I have to question. "Perhaps you'd like to do that for me?" He gave a little sideways nod of his head toward the restrooms and Tim sighed. Maybe he was just reading the whole situation wrong.

"Sure, Edward." He turned to the young woman and showed her his badge and ID then asked her if she remembered the man in the photograph.

"Sure do. I especially remember him because he didn't order anything." Beth looked at him with bright eyes, as if waiting for the right question.

"He didn't order anything? He just came into the bar and sat down?" At her smile, Tim knew he was being played. "Can you tell me exactly what happened this morning?"

She leaned closer and whispered, "Only if you swear I'm not going to get in any trouble."

Tim pulled back and inch and looked at her seriously. "Why would you get in trouble?"

"Because your partner? He's the one that the guy in the photograph met here."

Tim blinked. The implications of the woman's words crashed down on him like icy rain. If Edward were the man Decker met today, then that could only lead to… murder.

Five minutes later, Tim had the whole story, including the girl seeing Edward doctoring Decker's beer. He looked around but didn't see Edward anywhere. Not too surprising. The man had probably taken off as soon as he was out of sight.

Tim stepped out into the cool evening air and turned toward the car. He glanced around instinctively but there didn't seem to be anyone about. At least no one interested in him.

He was about fifty feed from where they'd parked he felt a man brush his side.

"I'm sorry, Tim."

"How could you do that?" Tim was incredulous. He turned to look at the friendly, polite young man, only to feel a gun in his side.

"There were reasons. Please don't make me shoot you, Tim. I like you. The others, well, they didn't really deserve to live."

At the car Edward nudged Tim toward the passenger side door. "Get in and drive." When Tim threw a questioning look over his shoulder at the other man he let out a tired breath. "Just climb over the console. It's a pain, I know, but I don't want you out of my sight. Oh, and before you do, your Sig, please. Two fingers only."

Tim swore mentally as he handed over his weapon. Just as he settled in the driver's seat his phone began to ring. He reached for it out of habit and Edward shook his head and told him no.

"Let it ring."

"But they'll know something's wrong if I don't answer it," he reasoned.

"I suspect they already know something's wrong. Turn it off." Edward stated matter-of-factly. "Now hand it to me." He tucked the device into his inner jacket pocket while keeping an eye on his captive.

"You're driving." Edward gestured with an open hand and Tim stifled a sigh as he started the engine. Clearly Tim was going to have to play along for now, though his mind raced to find some way out. Edward continued speaking almost nonchalantly. "Some place secluded. And no games. I really don't want to have to kill you."

Tim wanted to believe that last sentence, wanted to understand how this man could have a conscience about one death and not another. "Will you at least tell me why?" He put the car in gear and pulled out into traffic smoothly and tried to think of the furthest secluded spot from where they were. The only place that leapt to mind was Rock Creek Park. Probably because they'd found enough bodies there. He didn't want his to be one of them.

"Why? Why what?" Edward leaned in Tim's direction slightly.

"Why did you do it? Why did you do all of this?" he responded, slightly dumbfounded that Edward would have to ask.

"Why did I kill Helena? She was a traitor to her country, selling codes. She never would have been properly prosecuted. I helped spend six months putting together that case and I knew it had holes in it. There were places where we couldn't prove she was responsible for certain deals. It wasn't as airtight as Wilson and Rhian wanted to believe it was.

"When Rodgers approached me, he said he thought he had a mole in his department and he heard we had an open investigation. I told him I couldn't talk about the case, naturally. He told me, of course, he understood, but that he thought there was a solution to all of our problems. We could get rid of his mole, close the investigation permanently and while he was at it, he could see to my financial security."

"And that was all that really mattered, right?" Tim muttered disgustedly.

"You should mind your manners," Edward said angrily. "Money wasn't the only reason I did this. "Don't you understand? Rodger's said Helena was a traitor. She was never going to be punished. If I could do that and get some sort of promise of a better life, especially for my brother, then why the bloody hell shouldn't I?"

"Because it's wrong! You know that! I'll bet your brother does. I'll bet he wouldn't touch one dime of that money if he knew how you earned it." Tim took his eyes off the road for a moment to look at Edward.

"Shut up. Watch where you're going. And for that matter, where are we going, Tim?" Edward was suddenly conversational again, but Tim could feel the tension radiating from the man. Almost as if he were tightening his grip on a situation slowly spinning out of his control.

"Rock Creek Park." The words were out before Tim could censor them and he wished he could have taken them back. There were signs for the park all around so there would be no avoiding it.

He saw Edward nod from the corner of his eye.

"So how do you justify killing Captain Haggerty? Tim asked, quietly trying to bait Edward.

"He was one of her contacts. He was in her file, we knew that. Rodgers told me that whoever she met with while she was in Washington, that person was most likely one of her contacts and likely a traitor as well. I shouldn't feel guilty about having to kill them either and I would be compensated if I couldn't get her alone." Edward settled back in the seat, weapon still on Tim.

"You know, there is no proof to back up the claim that Haggerty was anything other than a Navy captain who worked in Communications." Tim shot a fast glance at Edward and caught him frowning. "We've found absolutely nothing to even hint at any type of espionage activity." Tim turned and headed down another street that would bring them closer to the park, but would take them a little longer to get there. "You murdered an innocent man."

"You don't know that," he replied, his voice laced with anger.

"And you don't know that Rodgers told you the truth either."

There was a momentary silence in the deepening twilight before Tim leaned on him again. "And you planned Decker's murder."

"Decker was just a go-between." He clearly felt no guilt over this murder, it was apparent in his attitude. "He got the gun and the passcard for the hotel. He procured everything for the murder. He could have done it himself. I don't know why he didn't."

But it was all too apparent to Tim exactly why. "Because Rodgers wanted someone on the investigation he could buy," he said softly.

"What?" Edward sat forward.

"So why kill Decker?" Tim said instead.

"To give you a killer. There's a dead man, traceable back to Rodgers who has Haggerty's laptop. There you go, all wrapped up in a neat little package. End of story." Edward's tone grew frustrated and angry. "But you couldn't just leave it at that, could you? You had to keep digging at it." Edward sat back against the seat in a huff and nodded toward the window. "Don't miss your turn up ahead. Wouldn't want you to have to detour around the park again."

Tim closed his eyes briefly. So much for that diversion. "Why do you suppose Rodgers really wanted Helena dead? I mean, if she really were a traitor and he knew it, he must have had some proof. Wouldn't he have wanted to give that to you?"

"He knew she'd never be found guilty if it ever even got to trial. Most of those plead their way out by revealing what they know of the foreign groups they've been selling to. Then they go on and lead nice comfortable lives on the money they've stashed away from their sales." Edward's voice took on a contemptible tone for the way the system works.

"And it never once occurred to you that you were now bought and paid for by Rodgers. That he'd have this to hold over you forever?" Pulling into the park he drove carefully to the parking area.

"No, this wasn't like that. I was doing a service for my country. I am not a hired killer for Rodgers!" Edward's voice shook with the vehemence of his beliefs.

Tim opened his mouth to refute that statement when Edward continued. "Besides, in the end, all that matters to me is my brother. I'd sacrifice anything for him."

"I'd say you already have. You've sacrificed everything for him." Car parked, Tim sat with his hands on the wheel and turned to face Edward. "What now?"

"I need you, and what you know, to be missing for a little while. Just until I can get out of town." Edward gave him a look that was something close to apologetic. "The airports are out, I know that. But I have a boat that's waiting for me. I don't think I'll tell you where. She'll get me where I need to go."

"So you've planned this all along?"

"Planned on disappearing? Yes, at least as soon as I could make the arrangements from the States. I had alternate plans from home. Planned on having to deal with a witness? No. You, Tim, are a complication I don't need. Now let's go." Edward motioned with the gun.

Tim stayed seated and made no moves with his hands. "Sorry to mess up your plans, Edward. You know there are a lot of people who are going to be hurt by this, have you thought about that?"

"No, there won't. I haven't any true friends. They're all just pretenders. 'Let's be nice to poor Eddie.' The only one who'll miss me is my brother and he'll have the money." Again Edward motioned with the gun.

"He won't take that money. Not after he knows how you earned it. I'll make sure to tell him, myself." Tim gave a slight smile at the cold fury in the other man's eyes. "And you're wrong about the friends. Abby liked you. She really thought you were cool." Tim shook his head.

"Enough! Get out, now! Leave the keys. And don't be stupid, I'll be right behind you." Edward's voice was calm and steady, which worried Tim greatly. He'd been hoping to put the man slightly off balance to gain an edge. Now it seemed that Edward was more focused than ever on remaining in control.

They walked along one of the paths until the came to an area with a number of large rocks and a shallow ravine. It wasn't so steep that the fall would kill a man, but it was steep enough that once down he would require assistance getting out. Edward turned to Tim.

"I don't want to do this. You really are a decent chap, despite what you said to me in the car." He surprised Tim with an uppercut to the jaw as he finished speaking.

Tim staggered backward from the unexpected blow and fought to maintain his balance. He looked back to see Edward holding the gun in his left hand and his right fist at the ready.

"Careful," Edward warned. "I'm not quite as good a shot with my left hand as I am with my right, but I do shoot with both hands."

Tim slowly stepped back toward the blond. "And I'm sure you were a good guy. At least you were once. Too bad I never knew you then." He threw a feint toward the tall man and then a jab toward his stomach. Only to be blocked and hit with a hard right cross.

"NCIS must not train their agents very well," Edward stated, his eyes glittering with anger.

"NCIS trains their agents very well and I'm not Helena. I won't go down without a fight." The look of fury that crossed Edward's face told Tim he'd scored a direct hit with that comment.

"Oh, you're going down. One way or another." This time Edward stepped close and turned, grabbing catching Tim in some judo or karate throw that landed him on his back.

Wind knocked out of him, sharp rocks digging into his back, he lay there for a second.

"Now you're getting the idea." Edward reached out with the toe of his worn black shoe and dug it under him hard, flipping him over carelessly, rolling him closer to the edge of the ravine.

Tim scrambled up on all fours and forced himself to move quickly, not knowing what or where the next blow would be. Knowing only that he needed to be more prepared to counter it.

He had just gotten his feet under him when they were kicked out and he went down hard to the ground again, this time on his side. "I thought you were smarter than this." He hummed as he nudged Tim closer to the edge of the ravine.

"I am smarter than this. That's why I'm not going to let you do this to me." From where he lay on the ground he reached up a leg and hooked it around the other man's feet. "Two can play that game," he said as Edward stared wide-eyed at him, groaning from the fall.

"You stupid—"

"Don't! Your team trusted you. I trusted you. Abby trusted you! And you're nothing but a common killer. Murderer for hire. So don't you dare call me names." Tim's eyes were fiery with anger and disdain.

Tim could see each word sink into Edward like a knife, laying bare the ugliness that Rodgers' words had cloaked. Edward let out a snarl of frustration and anger, his control finally stretched to the breaking point. He brought up the gun that he held trapped beneath his side. "This is over. If you won't shut up then you can bleed to death."

Tim grabbed for the gun and a struggle ensued. Both men knew with blinding clarity that if he lost this fight, it would be his last. The two men were strong and each was determined that the other would not have the weapon. At first the fight took the gun away from their bodies, and one shot went wild into the trees. Then it was pulled down between them in an attempt to gain more leverage. Without realizing it, in addition to wrestling for the gun they had also managed to work themselves closer to the edge of the ravine.

On the edge of the rocky slope the two men fought fiercely. Suddenly a muffled report was heard and two pair of shocked eyes stared at each other. The gun was brought up in both pair of hands, blood on each of them. And without the fight to keep them intertwined, the man with his back to the ravine slipped over the edge and rolled down the rocky slope.

Slowly, a blood-covered hand reached into a jacket pocket and fumbled for the cell phone that rested there. With a silent prayer that the instrument had not been damaged during the fight, he turned it on. Within seconds it began to ring.

"Boss?" he rasped. "Need help… hurt…" Oh, God, it hurt to breathe! The sky swam above him in strange patterns. He could hear Gibbs yelling on the other end of the connection. He forced himself to answer, even though it took everything he had just to get air into his body.

"GSW… fell… ravine…" He knew they wouldn't understand and he sucked in another lungful of air to try and give them more information. But the pain was excruciating and he let out a low groan along with the faint plea, "Hurry." Then the stars overhead winked out slowly as his breaths became shallower and more labored.


	43. Chapter 43

Bright lights obscured his vision; he heard voices calling to him. There were scrabbling sounds as rescuers, he hoped, came down the slope to reach him.

"Check for concussion, he may have hit his head on that rock," he heard someone say."

He struggled to talk. "No concussion… Chest hurts… What about—"

"There's a team working on him now, but there's been a lot of blood loss." The paramedic looked him in the eye and must have seen something there, some sort of seriousness in his face. "It doesn't look good. Now relax and let us do our job."

He nodded and allowed himself to be helped onto a stretcher for transport up the slope.

* * *

McGee woke in an unfamiliar bed and tried to stretch, only to find that he was hooked up to an IV, two monitors, and in a bed which was a touch too short for him. Not to mention the pain in his ribs. He sighed. "Hospital," he muttered.

"Very good, McGee. Next week we learn the Post Office." Tony sat at the foot of the bed, smirking.

"Very funny, DiNozzo." Tim tried to nod and smirk back but his head hurt. Odd, but the memory of what happened was right there, he just couldn't get to it. Like he was peering through a hazy curtain. "Seriously, Tony, can you fill in a couple of blanks for me?"

Tony sat forward. "Sure, Kid. What?"

"Why am I here trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey? And why don't I remember why I'm here?"

"Pain meds are great, aren't they? Knock ya on your butt every time. As for your ribs, you cracked a couple, I hear, on your way to the bottom of the ravine. How'd you wind up down there anyway?"

The ravine. It came rushing back. The fight. He could see it all clearly now. Edward. "What happened to Edward?" he asked quietly.

Rhian had walked in the room just as Tony was explaining about the ravine. Now she looked at Tim. "He's in critical condition. They're not sure if he's going to make it or not. Then next twenty-four to forty-eight hours are key."

Tim let out a breath. "He was the one, you know? The killer."

Tony and Rhian looked at each other and nodded. Rhian spoke quietly, her eyes not quite meeting Tim's. "Yes. Abby and Walter found the link back to Rodgers and the proof that he was with Decker. What I don't understand is why?"

Tim leaned his head back against the pillow and closed his eyes as the memory began to play over in his head, then motioned for her to sit down. "This is what he told me." He related the entire tale from Edward's point of view.

When he finished, Tony glanced over at Rhian. Tim was slightly surprised to see in Tony's eyes the same care and concern that had been directed at him once, with the death of that undercover officer. After a moment, she nodded and Tony turned toward Tim.

"But Ziva and Wilson found a safe deposit box of documents that Helena had been collecting," Tony explained, patching together the missing pieces of the story. "According to her, proof that Rodgers was the mole. They've been sorting through them in London and we've been going through fax copies here. None of us have been able to find anything that suggests that Helena was really the mole. It all points to Rodgers."

"And I'll bet that Helena was getting too close for Rodgers' comfort. So he not only had her done in, he had her done in by someone on the investigating team so that he could be sure to sabotage any further inquires." Tim sighed. "You know, I almost feel bad for him. He was just a pawn in all of this."

"Don't feel too sorry for him, McGee. He got a pretty penny for offing Helena and Haggerty," Tony told him, disgust lacing his voice.

"How much?" It was one question he never got to ask Edward. How much was a life worth?

Rhian named a figure in British pounds and then converted it to dollars. Tim's jaw dropped. "At least he didn't sell out cheap."

"No, he certainly didn't." Rhian shook her head as Tony shoved himself out of his chair in obvious irritation. Tim looked up at him questioningly as the other man stalked to the window and stared out.

"What was Haggerty's role in all this?" Tim asked. "Did we ever find that out?"

"As near as we can figure, from some of the notes that she made, she trusted him," Tony answered, his back still to the room. "He may have been the only other person who knew about her suspicions. Certainly he was the only person she trusted to help her sneak back out of the States."

"Sneak back _out_ of the States? You lost me." Tim tried to sit up and winced in pain, just as Tony turned around. Quickly, he adjusted the bed for the injured man.

"Remember when we found the passport and stuff in the name of Helen Darby at the motel?" he asked, leaning back against the windowsill.

"Yeah. What about it?"

"Well 'Helen' had plane reservations back to London from Washington for the day after she was murdered. And that's not all 'Helen' had. That safe deposit box was in her name as was a post office box and a few other things." Tony opened his mouth to continue but Tim held up a hand.

"Wait. She had a plane reservation to fly out of Washington? It can't be coincidence that she was killed here when she was." He looked at Tony and Rhian. "Rodgers knew about her alias."

"Wilson and Ziva thought as much. They were followed in London. We suspect, but we can't prove, that she was planning to fly home and deliver her proof on Rodgers to MI-5 Investigations. Namely Wilson, whom she did not know was in the States." Rhian told him.

"But Rodgers couldn't allow her to get those documents anywhere near Investigations, could he?" Tim looked at her.

She shook her head in response. "No. Even if Wilson weren't there, it would have been the end for Rodgers. And he knew it."

Tim relaxed back against the bed. He felt sorry for Edward. The man had been well and truly used. Although to be fair, he had allowed himself to be used, as well. He supposed it had been a symbiotic relationship, Edward and Rodgers each getting what they wanted. Or what they thought they wanted.

He rolled his head to look at his visitors. "I assume that Rodgers is under arrest?"

"Oh, yes. And screaming loudly about any number of miscarriages of justice. But in the end, this case will hold up. Helena's records will see to that." Rhian smiled at Tim. "You look tired. Why don't you get some more rest?" She glanced over at Tony, then told him. "Everyone's been standing vigil outside your door all night, I'm sure they won't forgive me for being one of the first to see you."

That made Tim curious. "So where were they when you came in?"

She gave a slight grin. "Asleep in the chairs in the hall. Well, your Gibbs was awake, but he let me by. Said if you were awake to tell you he'd see you soon enough."

Tim groaned. "Man, I hate desk duty."


	44. Chapter 44

Three days later, they stood at Andrews Air Force Base, alongside a plane waiting for its passengers. Gibbs and his entire team plus Abby, faced Wilson and his team minus Edward.

"Wilson," Gibbs said and extended a hand.

"Special Agent Gibbs," he returned formally as they shook. "Thank you for your cooperative efforts." His words were sincere and Gibbs nodded.

"And yours," Gibbs returned then added, "Although I'm curious. You made such a big deal over her. Why?"

Wilson looked to Rhian. "I'm afraid I really can't discuss it. There are things in her personnel file and about our inquiry that are matters of national security. But thank you for not pushing the matter with us. It would have only made the situation very tense."

Again Gibbs nodded. Then he stepped back and let his team say their good-byes.

Ziva stepped up to Rhian and shook her hand. "I don't envy you, having to put up with that all the time," said the British woman with a tilt of her head in Tony's direction.

"Sadly, you get used to it," Ziva laughed. Rhian chuckled with her.

"Yes, I can see where you might at least become… inured to it." The two women parted with a smile and Ziva stepped on to Wilson to say her thank-yous and good-byes.

Tony walked up to Rhian. "So… gonna miss me?" He grinned suggestively and she rolled her eyes.

"Oh, of course I'll miss you," she told him. "The same way I'll miss the heartburn I got after eating that pizza you brought back to the Embassy. What the hell was on that thing anyway?" She shuddered in revulsion.

"Hey, that's not fair! That was Mama Lorenzo's Special!" Tony was somewhat indignant, unsure if she was teasing or not.

"Special what?" She gave him a small smile. "If it means anything to you, I don't suppose you really are all that bad. But don't let it go to your head." She held out her hand for him to shake and he grinned and captured it, then brought it to his lips.

"I can be a gentleman, too. But don't let that get around. See ya, Lawton." With that he winked and headed over toward Gibbs, having already said his thank-yous to Wilson.

Abby and Tim stood over to the side with Walter. "It's been a pleasure working with you. Both of you," he added with a smile at Abby.

"Really? I kinda got the feeling you weren't too sure about me," she said looking him in the eye.

He nodded slightly. "You're exactly the kind of girl I've always avoided. Loud music, Goth dress, funky attitude. All of it rolled into one." A look of hurt flashed across her face until he leaned a little closer and said softly. "I hope I find a girl just like you." He gave her a kiss on the cheek, turned and shook Tim's hand then walked over to where Gibbs stood.

"Thank you, Sir." He held up a hand as Gibbs opened his mouth. "I know, don't call you Sir." Shaking his head slightly he continued. "It's just a word of respect and it's all I have."

Gibbs extended his hand and Walter took it firmly. "You did good work, Agent Sinclair."

Tony walked up just then and glanced between the two men. "High praise from the Boss. You must have really impressed him."

Walter smiled. He opened his mouth to speak but the group as a whole was distracted by the sound of an ambulance pulling up.

The rear doors swung wide and an MP exited, supervising the unloading of the gurney. He then walked smartly next to the patient as they wheeled the wounded man toward the aircraft.

The silence that enveloped the group was absolute. Every eye was on the blond man laid out on the moving bed. Gibbs shifted his gaze to the people around him, watching their reactions instead. He could see the disappointment in Wilson's eyes and understood it as any team leader would.

Rhian gave a huff of disgust and turned away as Walter shook his head, seemingly confused by Edward's actions.

McGee and Abby stood off to the side, with his arm around her. Her eyes glittered with anger even as a tear slid down her cheek, though Tim's stare was hard and brittle.

Tony narrowed his eyes as he watched Edward pass, the disgust over the whole matter easily read on his face. Ziva watched the man with dispassionate curiosity, as if studying a new variety of adversary. As a JAG lawyer exited the ambulance and followed the stretcher, a muscle in Tony's jaw bunched. "JAG's working with MI-5 on this?" he asked, tightly.

Wilson, Rhian and Gibbs were just behind the other two and heard Tony's question. "Apparently your JAG Corps wants to prosecute the two cases separately, to ensure that Mr. Harper gets the maximum possible sentence," Wilson explained.

Gibbs nodded, and finished the thought. "However, someone from JAG is going along with Harper. JAG wants a representative at his trial in London before he comes back to stand trial here."

"Why does London get to prosecute him first?" Ziva asked.

"Apparently Helena was the bigger fish," Gibbs said before Wilson could answer.

"All right, time to go." Wilson looked around one last time. "Should you ever find yourselves in London, look me up."

"And if you ever find yourselves back here…" Gibbs trailed off.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that." Wilson climbed the stairs to the plane with a grin. "Thanks for everything."

Rhian and Walter followed him up, each giving a wave. Once they were aboard, Air Force personnel closed the door and the boarding stairs were rolled away. Their escort stepped up to Gibbs and his team and indicated that it was time to leave.

They turned as one and headed back into the building through the marked door. "Tony? Do you think we'll ever see them again?" Abby asked in a small voice, as she moved toward a window, watching the plane taxi toward the runway.

"You never know, Abbs," he answered as he came to stand next to her. "_Que sera sera._"

"What will be, will be? That's the best you can come up with, Tony?" Ziva teased Tony lightly.

"You can do better?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"What tomorrow brings, the future knows." At Tony's surprised look she smiled and turned to look out the window.

Tim slipped up to stand next to her and murmured under his breath, "Young at Heart, by Ace of Base?"

Ziva shot him a look from the corner of her eye. "You're not going to tell him that." It was a definite statement and not a request. Tim's head nodded slightly to indicate his compliance. Smiles slid over both their faces as the jet engines powered the plane down the runway and lifted it gracefully into the sky.


	45. Chapter 45

Yes, once again I have to have my say after the fact. First I want to thank everyone who's been reading and especially those of you who have been reviewing. This has been fantastic and your wonderful words have been terrific to see. I continue to be pleased and grateful that my work meets with your approval. I wish I had words more than simply Thank You.

And, of course, Thank You does not even begin to cover it for the one and only, totally FAB writing partner in the whole world. Mac chick… you rock. And without you, I just wouldn't be here. So, take a million out of escrow somewhere, you've earned it!

And special thanks to Karie, who helped along the way as a reader with this while it was in the embryonic stage. A terrific writer in her own right, she helped me work through some of the nasty spots that my brain missed when it was jumping ahead to the next big moment. Thanks, Babe… you **are** all that.

Now… a vacation… much earned… and then I have a very stubborn story to finish, don't I? Gonna get that one done, if it kills me…

GiGi


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